The harbour at La Rochelle, was my favourite spot,
A smarmy waiter did not detract,
A small box, Therese's hiding place.
The harbour stood the force of wind and rain,
A smarmy waiter took our orders, as we huddled,
A small box, upturned in Therese's palm.
The harbour, setting sun on watery diamonds,
A smarmy waiter brought a tray of pernod,
A small box, golden promise nestled inside.
The harbour at twilight, we walked arm in arm.
A smarmy waiter watched, framed by cafe window,
A small box in my pocket.
The harbour, dark on the cob, we held hands,
A smarmy waiter, liquorice stick in quayside lights,
A small box, circular imprint in empty velvet.
The harbour, an upturned boat, you kissed me deeply.
A smarmy waiter, echo voice disdaining,
A small box, crushed in embrace, not needed,
Ring that will never leave my finger.
The harbour now, empty in the grey of missing you.
Copyright 2014 Gabrielle Goldsmith