Aug 122020


We’re closed.

You saw the sign on the door.

What more?

Come tomorrow there’ll things we’ll be happy for you to borrow.

We can’t make a word follow another in the way we’d like.

Tongue-twisted and slightly resisted.

Another day and the oil will come.

Slide and time to bide.

Strays look longingly at our pots and pans.

They hope they can maybe stay.

There’s nothing more we can say.

None available today.

Tomorrow feels good and sits atop the bay.