Lourdes France with Mother (9) - Lunchtime poem
Lunchtime
"A little water, mother?
to go with your beetroot?"
"Son, what would I be doing with water?
Haven’t I salami here?"
"Maybe a quick competitive drink,
a swallow-off?"
"Son, you’ll never best me,
I was born a winner."
"Yes mother."
With that, the two raised their glasses, fixed eyes on each other, and downed the local tap water
- a dead heat.
