#Je Suis En Terrasse

A pichet of wine each and two empty glasses,
one serviette unfolded,
the start of a conversation
over morsels of fresh crusty bread.
The simple pleasures of life
laid out before us–
such easy pickings for the haters,
when they come along,
clad in black from head to toe,
armed with a distorted faith 
weaponised by a phoney caliphate,
deluded into thinking they are the chosen few,
sowing dragon’s teeth into
the pavement beneath our feet.
They want to clear our table with bullets
and bombs, cultivate fear and scatter the chairs
(while attending to their own all important martyrdom.)
All they want in life is death,
their hearts colder and emptier than my glass
before I fill it with the first life-giving glug
of warm ruby red.
I will bind my wounds with the cloth serviette
and in the days ahead I will come here again,
and sit outside on the terrace,
drinking, talking, laughing with friends
and breaking bread.

#Je Suis En Terrasse

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