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stockpot

inevitably,
we hanker after
favourite dishes
from long defunct
restaurants.

‘cooper’s soup’,
she wails,
while I summon up
the stockpot’s
mouthwateringly
multisyllabic
aubergine
parmigiana.

remember rain,
always rain,
on old compton
and the shelter of
a tiled corner outside
the café where we shook
and closed our umbrellas
before going in.

it always reminded me
of debonair gentlemen
in hats and overcoats
doing the same,
but with more of a flourish,
in old black and white movies.
and we felt, momentarily,
matinee idols.

Photo from The Guardian.