At Table Poem by Steven Aragon

Mon ami learn to eat slowly.
Meals in the shack by the sea will be lazy.
The salty smell of the water below,
And the pinon burning in the woodstove will feed us until the buttery pancakes are done.
Breakfast will bleed into lunch,
the sweet tang of marmalade on leftover ham croissants.
And, who cares when dinner starts?
We give happiness more than an hour.
Meals will end when the laughter has us crying, No more!
The simple food will be good.
The company better.
Even if it's just we.
You and me.