Fish and Chips*

Fish and chips *

At the sea side beach
With fish and chips
Once we had our talks
Of how was it to stick
To little things that
We always missed,

I had surely said
What shores I had met
What towns and ports
Had I always to, sailed,
What there the people did
What stakes went high
What really went low,
Which town had the best
Reason for a fest to show,

You would tell me,
What it meant to you
When on a piece of cloth
You did embroidery,

How did it really feel
When your fingers got the prick
Of needle getting stuck
To the fingers' head, the tips,

I would surely then
Ask you to sing,
Over a glass of tequila
The last song for Mary Jane,

The fish and grill shack
Must be feeling lone,
With only two of us,
There with the dusk alone,
Doing things absolutely
Simple and metaphoric
Playing with forks and chips
And catching young the sun's drips
Over the sea, onto the foam, surfs
Where came about certainly home.

(*Note: the painting realistic attached is Taken by me, for helping and decorating the poem/scribbling. Courtesy: Musica Pittura e Dintorni)

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