The Sauce is All Wrong
For the best possible reading experience, it is recommended that you read this poem on a desktop computer.
After, Maria Victoria Rodriguez, Chacra. (https://www.instagram.com/mvictoria.rodriguez/p/CNlTsamJIAQ/chacra/)
Casting golden glows and long shadows
A blistering sun nearing its decent for the day
Emerging from terracotta roofs,
Ready to reclaim the day with music and eating
My bones are still warm all the way through
I hear the strumming of a guitar and a squeezebox
We slowly gather to celebrate
But we feel a sense of loss and a raw emptiness
While the pasta is already made,
We trudge onwards from obligation and tradition
Wine is automatically opened,
No one says anything to mark the first time — without
I see someone has placed their photo
Pride of the place where they once would have sat — amongst us
But the music carries on — without
The sauce is all wrong — the trio now a mere duo
Without — we have lost what we once had
Like tripping up or a hiccup, it was a surprise
They wanted to leave and start again
We celebrate their bravery but miss them very much
And here we continue as always
Subdued music and sauce with too much smoked paprika
