Moules en Provence
I can’t explain it all in French, but I
can show you, just as the old man
at the table next to us did that day.
How to take the first long shell
and use it like a pair of tongs,
scooping each mouthful out
and bathing them in cream and wine.
We were unprepared. For eating
seafood in the proper way, for the
heatwave which called for swimsuits
when all we had was jeans.
We marvelled as we drove past
actual olive trees and drank perfect
co-op wine at four euros a bottle.
If I could remember the name
of that restaurant, I would send you there
and show you that not everyone
will be bored and roll their eyes
at green young travellers, that some
will understand that this is just
the beginning of something.