At Dome Café

Reading Tom Shapcott upstairs at DOME Café < I feel like writing. Many times creative ideas come 

    on an empty stomach. I order a lemon meringue with a cappuccino. Meg at the counter has 

    hair as black as black and electric pink with black edging on her upper eyelids. But it is only 

    visible when she blinks. She blinks. Electric pink with black edging. I want her to blink again. I 

    indulge in a little small talk. She blinks. It is so exceptional. I think of her in front of her 

    bedroom mirror, steady hand at the thin brush, first one lid then the other. Meticulously. slow 

    kisses on the eyelids of the sea, (Berrigan).The lemon meringue is beautifully formed when it 

    arrives, a little snow capped island.   And the hands that sculptured it.   This morning I threw three  caterpillars out from our courtyard to our front lawn. Let them eat there.  Black one, ginger one 

   and a  bright green one. Nature has its own reasons for colours. I look out the window. There’s a 

   white jet against a blue sky. Some wonders never cease.

   Tom Shapcott says it all: The fabulous! That is what we want, not decaffeinated moments 

   scratched from the routine that somehow crept behind us and proffered life on a tray with 

   mass-produced biscuits.