simple

We take our meal outside to sit on the parched grass to eat
The same meal; her with a fork, me with chopsticks
The air is warm, sky a brilliant blue despite the late hour
Empty bowls are pushed aside
I lie back on the yellow grass, closing my eyes
Someone, probably a couple of houses down, is having a barbeque
And the smell of meat roasting wafts over
The airplanes rumble overhead and for a glorious moment
Everything is peace
Then a piece of grass is thrown at me
A second and then a third follow
I sit up, and the next hits me in the face
The next piece of grass isn’t immediately chucked at me;
She sits there for a moment, weaving
And then holds out a ring
As it slides onto my finger I wish
That love was really this simple.