It was just a foil packed grill, a couple of pounds
From some nameless store that sells plastic windmills
And rakes for the garden, a jumble of things.
But the barbecue whispered – take me home,
And so we sat in our garden, grilling on
A breezeblock, nothing sexy or insta-worthy here,
But a mother and son who have struggled all year,
A a break in the rain clouds for a moment of fun,
Burning our burgers and heaping on coleslaw,
Eating until we can hardly move from our picnic chairs.
We play indie music as the sun starts to set,
Imagining a festival or sunkissed beach,
But the tinny, low beats that emit from the phone
Remind me that now is as good as it gets,
Because now I am happy, contented for just a window in time.