Once they have put their beach towels out
on just the right sun loungers
in that exact spot by the pool,
they rush inside to the all-inclusive breakfast.
The serious business and the jostling
in the hotel dining room
reminds me of going through airport security.
I like a cup of tea but have never
queued post-office style
for my morning brew.
They huddle in silent concentration
around the toast-machine
watching their particular slice
going round, while also eyeing
other diners in case they push in
or try to pinch their toast.
I sit at a table nursing a hangover
from last night’s cerveza,
the clattering of cutlery
jangling through my head.
Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow
I tell myself before retreating
back to the cool hush of my room.
A few days later an octogenarian
from Yorkshire shows me the trick with the toast.
You put it on one side and then the other.