His head pounds, the walls dance.
Can he hear the felling of timbers?
Time has flowed from the first beer
to his stupored awakening
without his knowledge.
He creeps to the kitchen.
Sophia is preparing food
with timber ladles in a wooden bowl.
His wife eyes him and turns away.
No words are uttered or needed.
Light floods in through the open door.
He turns his eyes and sits.
She demands to know the day.
He has no answer nor understands
why she needs to know.
She wants something special.
She talks of Sergios, fishing,
out on his boat.
He feels the walls along the street.
They are dancing less now, firming up.
On a bench by the harbour
he dozes a little and then watches
the tiny shape of Sergios and his boat
as it ‘pot pot’s in and anchors up. They wave.
Sergios asks about his night.
Tells him to recall the day
for his own well being.
A flash of memory hits a spot.
His brain recommences functions.
Sergios holds up his catch.
Mullet, he says,
fresh this morning.
Sophia loves red mullet he says,
wraps the fish and refuses cash.
There are other ways of paying.
He feels lighter as he climbs back home.
And before he’s reached his door
his brain has woken well enough
to ponder how Sergios knew
his wife loved mullet
and how she knew his morning plans.