Diamond pins

Imagine it is France,
one hundred years ago,
good evening, I am your waiter for the evening
I am wearing a black suit and tie
I have a towel draped over my arm
can you recommend a special,she asks serenely,
I certainly can,
I recommend the butterfly.
Why?
Because it is marinated in garlic jus
and it is sortie to perfection.
The yellow gas lamp flickers,
reflecting its flame on a puddle in the street,
Its wings, they remain translucent
yet the body stays succulent
its taste is oh so sweet.
She brushes her hair away from her face
and crosses her legs
her tiny pink floral dress
rides up her thigh
she insists
tell me more of this butterfly.
I sit at her table and tweak
the edges of my moustache,
they are a delicacy,
served but once a year,
and today is that day
the day of the catch.
A butterfly, as catch of the day,
she giggles sweetly
and raises her nose towards the air,
it smells delicious,
her laughter,
not the butterfly.
well then, serve me this magnificent dish,
on a plate.
Please God, I ask but once of this,
No, replies God,
through the flickering puddle on the floor,
just serve this girl her butterfly!
so I stand
to serve Gods will.
I will order your dish from our most talented chef,
would you care to join me sir, for my meal,
the puddle flickers,
was that a yes or no?
I will consult the boss mademoiselle,
He will let me know!
The plate was warm but not too hot,
and the meal was served with all the trimmings,
the fellow diners
stood to applaud,
the silver tray shakes in my hand,
I bow,
then present it to her table,
this is the greatest dish
you will ever try in this fair land.
And there, presented on the whitest plate,
just the butterfly
held down with diamond pins,
its colours so vibrant and bright
I look up towards the gently swaying lamp
its candle still alight.
Join me please, and share a wing,
the puddle,
it has run dry.
I will,
I say,
Please pass the knife and i will carve for you,
I carefully place the diamond pins
in a serviette
and I slice the meal in two,
their is enough here for the whole cafe
no one here will starve,
not me, nor you,
So we tasted the butterfly
and it was, indeed, the beginning that we sought.
As for the diamond pins
they are a reminder in our dresser drawer
from that meal we ate,
in that french cafe,
one hundred years ago.

M J Martin