• Grant Handgis ~ Author/Poet

"Pedro's Fish & Chips"

Pedro's Fish & Chips

My friend and I sit at Pedro's

Fish & Chips restaurant by the

sea, and enjoy our shared use

of the English language, where

our effort of expression

shrinks exponentially, the many

many years of practice, realizing

these are the best seats in the

house, with no partitions

to Sabalo street, as we're nearly

touching the corner tele, which

is absolutely magnetic to young

chicas, in groups of two

for a better lock on courage

and complex strategies of course

and they could go on! Such

language from these sweet delicate

young ladies, oozing sophistication

and alluring perfumes, yet

deadly serious, bent on ironing out

an understanding of something

damned different from her

own, now ratcheted to double

what it was, and unlike

the indifferent gato's

ugly, yet delicate dismissal

with the flippant twitch of a tail

to make it final,

she diced him up,

like kitty chow

nails extended, hissing rage

che-chawed him like a cornered

cat's hello to the face of the

lead dog, stalking off

before the crash

from the hang-up reached our ears


The prancing horses outside

the cubierta were ready for

battle, with nostrils flared,

and primed from urgent stroking

of the boys, racing about

and getting high on the fumes

of the attention, and with the

shifting whim of the summer breeze

aromas dueled, of T-Bone steak

and freshly heaped reminders on a cobbled

street of conquistadors prancing

with their mounts

Copyright 1997-2011

Pedro's Fish & Chips was an open sided restaurant, a Cubierta of sorts where patrons ate on the covered dining area and all other tasks were completed within the walled back area. It also sat right under the apartment building I was staying at. Eating meant a walk downstairs and around the side, onto Sabalo Street, a divided four lane affair lined with shops, restaurants, clubs, banks and other businesses, all doing brisk business as happy patrons strolled up and down the street.

I only needed to have my blank book with me and a pen, while doing mundane things, while seated. The show came to me. So many interesting characters either passing by or using the restaurant's facilities, and all I had to do was sit there and write. This is one such poem. I write pretty much stream of conscious, and this and the other poems of this collection have been altered from their original entry.


g. Michael Handgis Photography


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