lunch is that time of day

lunch is that time of day

dogs and diners (woof & mmm) in welcome

at Croeso Lounge, dressed in the Mumbles;

both murmur in rich conversations,

food for thought that rides upon the tides,

flirting with the world that promenades by.

the table talks to the poet,

the poet says to the dog owner:

 "what’s his name?"

only to be told she’s (SHE’s!) called x y z,

but in such a way are not conversations led?

that end up in wide smiles, that are yours 

down the afternoon of this wordy way:

oh lordy, lordy me, how the day spins down,

suffuses another coffee steaming halo
over all these lovely people who smile
and watermark my life slow spun down,

until Croeso welcomes me back here again,

to talk poetry and write lines such as these,
until the moon comes home with cold tears,
and the sun tucks us away, in a day that has
been a day such as dreams are made of.
my oh my, oh my.