The coke is still fizzing, keep talking

We Drove out to Anywhere
by Christy Hall

Spitting mandolins of duck breast, sizzling,
start to suggest things;

the coming together of ramblers,
we masqueraded as them, on a May morning,
beer-gardened and pecking 
at KP or WALKERS.

A slurp or two of shandy,
flat and warmed over conversation about
world-travel or mutual friends.
We could talk the fizz out of coke.

The gloopy remains are onions, peppers,
orange jus – 
forked into a corner of the slate.

And then on, on to a bull-field,
empty and dog-legged under 
a road-bridge.

We blanketed ourselves on tartan,
swapped sunglasses,
laid back and listened to crows
and gulls and far away
dogs bark
and are walked.