Freshly cut grass and a whiff

of sea air - stung, tired city eyes

Heading for the field, we squelched our

way to the stalls

Huddled around the heat - waiting.

Hands clutched sticky pink candy

Men poked the charcoal and sharpened their prongs

“Are they ready?” I asked.

The rough hard shells, somersaulted; on the

hot bed of wire

Crackle - pop: My black trousers, speckled with salt.

Ketchup, Lemon or Mayonnaise

Delicate to touch, tingling my tongue:

swishing around and down past my tonsils

Oysters