Catherine Ormell

Delish!

issue 19 January 2013

An English peculiar, the -ish feeling
comes from arriving at eightish, peckish,
giving one’s hostess a warm kiss,
at home among Leticia’s crowd,
sardonic, lusty and brisk.
Between the lettuce and the liquorice,
I talk to an egyptologist
who dabbles in hypnosis; intrigued,
I let her practice, and see my parents
farming radishes on a precipice…
out of the mist I emerge
…then pish! my boyhood vanishes,
my new friend’s turned to
someone in financial services –
do you know, they both summer
in villas in the Tamarisk? Raptly
they discuss the likelihood
of a zombocalypse…
my napkin slips away, I languish,
familiar with the interstice
between the skating plates,
the pause before a conversational
hit or miss, the heat
and sweat of sheepishness.
Around me forks are waved,
the company lets rip
with a rumbustious ‘Delish!’ –
the Zucker Kirsch Kuchen descends,
curvaceous in a silver dish;the coffee’s warmish.
Alice, has leant across, is kittenish,
and Giles will dash out to the all-night
tobacconist-cum-existentialist,
for anything we need
to replenish ourselves;
the missing w of wish, perhaps?
The more that is so moreish?

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