Sketches from Outside Tables I “toMAte moz’RELi caPREsi” three fat syllables pool into balsamic vinegar, essence of basil and tomato lifts from the plate into an evening air still liquid with the waiter’s words. II A few old boys not needing to say much quaff their Peronis in glasses tall and slim as maidens. Their table is the one at the back edge, always will be, and life is this – a good, familiar creature. III She turns her head and blows one nervous plume of gray smoke straight up, unseen above the heads of the others, and under her pink T-shirt, not her perfect breasts peaking but her lungs dark as the blackened bones caging them. IV Six friends, fat Chianti bowls lifted by fragile stems,  a tribute, a robust salute to each other, to love, to the night! A swarm of Vespas pass, buzzing loud and angry. No one notices. V Laughter’s sudden swell breaks over the diners covering them, they raise their voices and float above the chatter, the clatter, the plumes, the spumes, and drift off into a night air warmed by jasmine blooms and old wine.         Del Sol Review, summer 2003