The Picnic by Elizabeth Henry

illustration: Delphine Jones

Canapés and fairy cakes, caviar and ham,

Weeny finger sandwiches, replete with raspberry jam.

Pretty Gingham tablecloths are spread upon the grass.

Bollinger and Moët are consumed from crystal glass.

 

Baskets filled with plates and flasks, with napkins, spoons and forks;

Artful sweethearts hunt out nooks to frolic and disport.

Fancy pots and porringers, a saucer, cup and jug

Sit beside a strawberry sponge, upon the picnic rug.

 

Lovely, lacy parasols, positioned by the pool,

Are shielding fair and freckled skin and keeping bodies cool.

There’s dreamy, drowsy dancing as the band begins to play;

Its tone’s as smooth as polished glass and makes you want to sway.

 

A joint of beef, a roasted duck, some salad and some bread,

A lobster, quail and pheasant pie all make a sumptuous spread.

A game of croquet, cricket, chess or tennis on the court,

Whilst men in boaters smoke cigars and guzzle vintage port.

 

There’s merriment and frippery and flagrant joie de vivre

As tantalising ladies aim to charm and to intrigue.

A patient valet stands and waits to hear his brusque command

As flurried tweenies scurry fast, forever in demand.

 

Dresses hitched above the knee, whilst splashing in the stream

Children seek to hook a fish and gobble gooey cream.

Punch and Judy and their stick put on a splendid show.

Debutantes are shy and meek, their faces gleam and flow.

 

At eventide, a chilly breeze brings goosebumps to the skin.

Blankets, baskets, rugs and chairs are swiftly carried in.

Lovebirds part with weighted hearts, deflated, lorn and lost –

Their passion, thrill and prurience allayed and fleetly quashed.