Anticipated Pleasure Poem by poppy miller

ANTICIPATED PLEASURE.

Red boots skipping beneath a blue coat,
Happiness in the soles.
A flowing orange of emotion in the breast
As the pink tongue salivates.
The heart beating with glee.
A first date.
Lunch, twelve thirty.
Anticipated pleasure.

The sign over the door says
Five star restaurant.

Always the seat next to the window
Where the sun rests,
To flood the veins with hot blood.

The table is yellow. Formica.
No matter. Who needs a cloth?
Ants taxi the surface, then circle,
Paying homage
To the pyramid of salt
As the blue bottles drone above.

A chair groans in agony
From the weight of the woodworm.
The chef appears, throwing
A salute to the blue coat
his two fingers dripping red,
dying his disappearing eyebrows.

The floor is multi coloured, housing
leftover breakfast morsels,
Awaiting the roach rush.

Stomach now sagging with weakness
Where once tigers raged.
The door to the street opens
And the red boots flee,
Bidding farewell to what
‘Might have been.'
Gone, the anticipated pleasure.

Feet run and clash with the feet of
other ‘Might have-beens.'
Their raging tigers reinstated
As they devour double cheeseburgers
At ‘MacDonald's.'

©

11/2/3016