A Canadian in England

By Rita H. Chen

Not close enough to hear the crackle-snap of burning wood,
still the familiar smell of charcoal permeates nostrils
Fire’s heat offering wind-chapped fingers respite
from cold, biting winds of February

The four walls of the English pub I hide in
blend brick, mortar, and wood with modern floodlights
Penning words to speakers blaring urban pop,
I nurse a pint of hearty, golden ale

My simply-clad waitress in black polo shirt and pants,
asks me where I’m from in a charming accent
“Canada.”
And she says, “Today must not be cold to you.”
Gross misconception, but somehow flattering

One last swig of the brew in front of me,
one longing glimpse at dwindling flames, and
I feel brave enough to act the part of tourist again
in the chilly winter weather I’m supposedly not intimidated by

Rita’s Musings: This poem was inspired from a recent trip to Windsor Castle. I found England to be extremely charming and hope to go back again soon.