Private Screening
it was a private screening, no appointment, just the final masterpiece there on the wall. and him — part of it now, framed complete. like an artist’s work, it was modern, strokes of gaudy colour with thick applications of material, no planning, no design. on a large canvas of magnolia it lay, a perfect wash
Fava Beans
the soup again tonight, using up the stale crust of bread from Saturday, only tonight I bought a tin of fava beans from the corner shop, breaking a thirty-year silence I hadn’t meant to break. I’d gone down there for the paper, and just as I passed under the flats, old Mrs Rodriguez tipped her