Remember
Abela
that café
we sat in

in the city square
and you'd be drinking
your white wine
and I’d have my beer

and we'd talk
of the sights
and places we'd go
in a day or so

and about the Greens
and what they
were like
and how he

(Mr Green)
would always
contradict
what she

(Mrs Green)
was saying
like she'd say
it's hot in here

and he'd say
no it's not
it's quite cold
or he'd say

this fish
is under cooked
and she'd say
no it's overcooked

and I’d talk about
Schopenhaur
and you'd sit there
dumb eyed

and secretly fuming
(so you told me
later that day
in bed as you turned

your back on me
and I had to stare
at your rounded
shoulders

and silent ***)
or I'd talk about
or read some
Dylan Thomas poems

to you and you'd
put your fingers
over your ears
and say

enough already
and if I used to
gawk at the waitress
as she went by

you'd give me
the eye
(that no no
kind of look)

and I’d return
my eyes
to my book
but that was over

40 years ago
(where you are now
I don't know)
but I often think

about that foreign place
and you and ***
and your nice ***
pretty face.