Smell of Soil

Sitting at a Sicilian cafe.
Sipping Cappuchinos.
Chewing and digesting the works of Francis Bacon.
Sitting amongst the planters, freshly filled with soil and scrubs.
Partioning me from the normalities of the city.
A mother spanks her child, a teenager revs his motorcycle, a new couple find a comfortable embrace.
Sitting amongst strangers who have family.
I remember the Sundays.
The trunk brimming with fresh manure and plastic trays of flowers.
My second cappuchino appears.
A flower of cinnamon lays upon the foam.
I am amongst the flowers.