The Caterer

On weekdays
When I drive my van
A large eighties
Mitsubishi in dun, I scoff
The split elephant's trunk
Of a tiger prawn baguette
Dripping with peach
Like the innards of a creche.
With one hand limp
As a dandy's glove
Against the leather steering
Wheel, I cruise down empty
Asphalt mornings, throwing up
Clouds of dust and grit
As I approach the crossroads.
-
He comes out of nowhere;
Helmetless, Waitrose bag dangling
From the handlebars. Too late
I stamp, jerk forward
As if craning to see.
The windscreen is blotched
With peach blossom.