Elevenses In Paris

My lips for now must be content to taste
the fresh squeezed lemon juice you recommend.
They will meet yours again quite soon, but now
you sketch; I watch the world and take a sip.

Across the square a dumpy bereted bloke
steers little dog towards the pavement's edge:
it strains, and lays a large tan spiral shape,
a Play-Doh sausage-maker on the job.
I didn't know a dog could do so much,
and, from its shocked expression, nor did it.

The owner scrapes some litter on the s**t.
I push our plate towards you with a smile:
that Danish pastry's yours, I think, my sweet -
I shan't feel like it for a little while.