Swept up

I’ve got just the job for you,
he said, cigar smoke floating from his mouth
smoother than the River Arvon to the left of us.
He fiddled with a slice of cheese
none of us could remember the name of.
Ever heard of Vodka Revs?
A square of salami fell from a tuft of beard
on his right cheek like a flake of sunburnt skin
on the neck of a wannabe golfer.
I can’t get you the job,
his laugh punched the air of anybody
willing to listen. He ordered a round of limoncello
and wondered where the night would take him
like a leaf unsure how the storm started.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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