Sandwiches For Breakfast

Nora came like a beast of burden,
trafficking all manner of treats,
and sandwiches in the hundreds.
Juice, butter, milk and cream,
chocolate to feed the five thousand,
a piping bag set and her bichon frise.
If there was a herd of wild cows and
goats in the boot I'd have believed it.
Brown bread, candles, an extra cake,
certain items must have become rare
in her purchasing wake.
Certainly, someone somewhere
was out of crisps and popcorn,
and all disposable cups, bowls
and spoons were gone.
It was our first and last such occasion,
planned in lists and ticks
and passed, like all good celebrations,
in what seemed like minutes.
I heard the South African accent
and the Irish ones mingling,
so I knew who was present.
Aedan played the violin,
Oscar the baby flaunted his talents.
It was mostly a day of bad weather.
Sadie and Daniel, Holly and Ellen
decorated their cakes together.

The wet day of children in bare feet
went better than expected.
There were sandwiches for tea
and sandwiches for breakfast.

(We had a birthday party to mark four birthdays in September 2019, my two and two of their friends marked their 2019 birthdays with their mutual friends).

Céline

My French pen-pal
sent me photos
and made me laugh
when she wrote,
"I am a guinea pig."
The letter bore an excellent
sketch, in coloured pencil,
to stoke my amusement.
I consider regularly
my never-met friend
who received from me
not one word of French.

(Having a pen-pal was all the rage when I was in primary school. Céline Tenace was the name of mine and she was a great correspondent. I wrote lots of letters, but I don't think I sent any photos, she sent me loads. I still know her then postal address off by heart).