Just hard-packed earth, cool under my feet in the shade
Of the scarlet runner beans climbing their pole.
Vichyssoise served from a silver tureen aboard the Queen Mary
Bell peppers still ripening in the hot sun as I pick them,
Mud-splashed tomatoes, broken stems releasing an aroma of high summer,
I fill my apron like Nellie in the paw-paw patch.
American boy slurping soupe de poisson and vin ordinaire
You go to work cutting and chopping,
Your Sabatier performing a scherzo of slicing.
Tromping over wet-black sand along the Bassin d'Arcachon
The sun goes down and we dine.
A Gitane glows against the night sky.
Your first oyster, a gift from Monsieur Saint-Jour