Margo’s exercise for this week is a poem combining elements of eating and weather, and doing it in third person. I still struggle with doing effective third person. I tend to switch back and forth to the omniscient narrator and overuse pronouns (he/him/his in this case). Still, a poem is written, which is better than not.
We all recognize him — tips well,
never rude or demanding, nothing
complicated in his order — when he
comes in, by himself late in the afternoon.
He sits at a table facing the sea
and takes his time ordering. The food
may be different — today it is oysters —
but he always drinks red wine.
The surf holds his attention, and I
often notice him following the
progress of the beach walkers as they
fill the void between land and waves.
It is rare for him to have more
than two drinks, always saving
the last swallow for a toast
to the sunset before he leaves.
Today, there is no sun,
and the storms in his eyes
are a perfect match to those
on the horizon.