More pitta please

More pitta please

I bet that when you were younger
your mum moved
out and left you her -
please accept my apologies
for the tiny fish in your soup,
bone comb,
I will bring you a new one.

When you were little
Sam stole
a penguin from the zoo and on the bus
unzipped
his rucksack to show you its
napkins, cutlery
two wineglass eyes
linting the lining.

That woman on table nine
with hair like ice cream
has been waiting
racing down a window
for at least an hour,
that reminds me, Megan must order more cordial
or it will rain holy
tapas hell
and the sky
chefs, all sweating
will quit delivering
such excellent standards of sunshine.

Cheque
no please, you piss
250 ml of red wine in my
shoes
and wiping the
smirk paste
off your braces,
Natalie, check the lists
of the hygiene plates
that await you in strained laboratories
you break,
for nicotine and do not wash your fingers
the day outside
is an order
and the women walk past like lattes
and the sausage dogs in the geraniums
and the babies all whitebait
sink into
the soup.