The second day

She had that grim, taut expression,
common to little Britons abroad –
us against the world, no tapas when
each bar has bacon, egg and chips on tap
for those who take excess baggage
even to the Andalusian coast.

And so she found her table and sat down.
But this was not a Spanish bar –
the crowds had come to bask, not in the sun,
but in the glow of prices cut in two –
the sales, the suits and sheets and shoes.

And she was fraught. Her tired, searching eyes seemed dull.
Her daughter's five year-old tongue chirped merrily,
but mum could barely fake a kind reply.
Her eyes roved round, returned to the little girl,
then roved again. The season of joy and peace
had turned, it seemed, to duty, pressure, pain.

But then her eyes found what they sought.
A young man took his place across from her,
his daughter grinned at Dad's return,
and slowly Mum came back to life.
Those tired eyes grew brighter now,
the furrowed brow grew smooth, and soon
an unexpected smile lit up the day.

Not all marriages are drained of love –
not all families are fueled by pique.
These two, at times perhaps against the world,
were for each other, and it showed.