A Field in Edithmead

Rose James

E-mail: roseleswwho@aol.com

 

The line of cars ahead slowed then stopped,

in the melting-tar heat, of a June day.

Glancing to the left, I saw

two striped deckchairs beside an old caravan.

A man in panama hat, white shirt with cravat,

newspaper on lap.

A camping stool with teapot and two bone china cups.

His wife in flowered frock of palest blue, a summer straw,

knitting a sock.

A heat haze hung in the air as he turned to his wife,

touching her arm with a gentle, loving gesture.

She smiled.

I trespassed by.

 

 ©2005 Rose James

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