The Cafe

On a hot day like today I should be standing on
cool old flag stones, in a beautiful house, eating an orange.
From the window I'd see white butterflies on cabbages,
dancing about in the bright summer sun.

Instead I am here, at work in the cafe, melting over a stove,
the radio's loud and the fan isn't working, I wish I was home.
The smell of the rubbish out side comes through the window
and chokes me, two wasps buzz angrily around ready to attack.

Tonight I shall sleep deeply and sink into the silence,
the morning light will gently surround me, waking me softly.
Under the shower my eyes will feel wide open once again,
after breakfast I'll take the ferry across to the Island, alone.