Ann Gibson: Montreux Riviera

We amble along the sunny lakeside,
rub elbows with the beautiful people,
pass open air tables beyond our means.

On one, deserted,
a pair of crema lined cups,
emptied espressos,
and a little plate of Lilliputian delights:
mini mint-green macaron,
pink petit four,
tiny tarte Tatin
and baby chocolate choux
with just a morsel missing.

Sparrows hop, cautious,
close in,
suspicious of such
conspicuous non-consumption.