Delicatessen: a poem by Jacqueline Jay Wilde

Delicatessen by Jacqueline Jay Wilde

Because you were smoking
We stopped at the door
And peered into a cavern
Clustered with salami stalactites.

The curve of the glass counter
Gleamed in the half light,
Mirrored shelves and shelves
Of Italianate tins and jars
And bottles and boxes
Stuffed with exotic morsels.

The scent of herbs and spicy fats
Zipped through our nostrils
As we, half crouched,
Spied on the staff
Who gesticulated and chattered
In Mediterranean vowels and consonants.

The queue at the counter
Wasn’t long
But we moved on,
We knew that, if we entered,
Our cash would vanish
In one huge, gorgeous splurge.

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