A stop on the highway and an extra slice.
White or brown, you choose.
Sauce in a squeeze bottle, a strainer for the tea
and a dainty dish for it to rest.
This is it – tea on the road, how it should be.
There’s a man in boots calling hello
and his laugh spills across the room.
There’s talk of the weather; wet everywhere, it seems.
The dried herbs are floating in the vinaigrette,
twinkling specks to tease.
They all stop here: the families, Ma and Pa,
mum and the unmarried son; a parade of life
in Red Bands and brogues and sensible brown.
The waitress is quick and knows a thirsty traveller;
seen them all and waved them goodbye: they go
and she stays on to adjust her apron and her smile.
Everything all right?
Oh yes. Everything is fine.