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  • During work hours I eat out of a plastic container,
    Cold leftovers
    I snatch a bite when I can
    as I wend my through the cafeteria
    drawing smiley faces with the squeeze bottle ketchup

    Grey burgers
    Wobbly fries
    Tenders of various origin
    Pale bloated pasta

    Here and there I hand out napkins to mop up spills

    Mr Ben, calls Ayush
    It comes out in a spray of roti and rice.

    Across the table Hafiz and Morgan are duelling with neon orange cheese doodles

    Nothing glorious about this culinary field.

    I carefully wipe my hands before I extract my cell phone to check the time
    Is it recess time Mr Ben, Quinn wants to know
    I smile
    But not for recess
    I am far away

    A deserted island in the late afternoon
    Scavenged planks wave polished, silver grey
    for a table and a bench
    Stacked granite slabs to hold the grill
    Lazy smoke from a driftwood fire
    The lap of wave
    The sigh of the dying westerly
    through the fringe of spruce along the shore
    the distant roar of the last boats running home
    the gulls’ silent drift south to bed down on the outer islands

    Salmon with thin sliced lemons and jalapenos in a bag
    Set on the grill
    Until the lemons are soft and sweet
    Garden leaves for a salad
    Rocket and lettuces
    Basil and mint, tomato chunks and soft white mozzarella
    Italian sausages sizzle and spit
    Red pepper and garlic,
    Fennel and anise
    A wild island
    The coming night
    and food, glorious food
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