It's Still Life

A Road and Pork Happiness

We’re at a lay-by
on the old road to Dover.
It’s unexpectedly spring
in January, and we dine
sitting on folding chairs,
eating pork pies and
sipping iced tea.
This is happiness, you say.
Poetry. An oyster’s life.
This is a poem, I say.

dVerse Quadrille #49 (44 words, excluding the title)