THE SAUCE IS ALL WRONG

Casting golden glows and long shadows
A blistering sun nearing its decent for the day

Emerging from terracotta roofs,
Ready to reclaim the day with music and eating

My bones are still warm all the way through
I hear the strumming of a guitar and a squeezebox

We slowly gather to celebrate
But we feel a sense of loss and a raw emptiness

While the pasta is already made,
We trudge onwards from obligation and tradition

Wine is automatically opened,
No one says anything to mark the first time — without

I see someone has placed their photo
Pride of the place where they once would have sat — amongst us

But the music carries on — without
The sauce is all wrong — the trio now a mere duo

Without — we have lost what we once had
Like tripping up or a hiccup, it was a surprise

They wanted to leave and start again
We celebrate their bravery but miss them very much

And here we continue as always
Subdued music and sauce with too much smoked paprika