Monday, August 3, 2015

A Table For Two, For One

A small diner
A table for two, for one
A man sits
Stirring coffee long ago gone cold
And stares out the window
At the soft yellow glow
Of streetlights in the rain
And at the clock
As it ticks past 3am
Anywhere really, except
For the empty seat across from him
Half-eaten food on two plates
A napkin smeared with lipstick
And the smell of her perfume
Curling through the air, still
Like the faint smell of burnt coffee
And cigarette smoke
The rumble of the thunder
Shaking the loose glass in its pane
As sad hands adjust the cold wire frame
Of glasses
The eyes behind them longing for tears
That won’t come

A dark bus stop
A cold bench
A woman sits, crying
The rain masking the tears
Her shaking hands clutching
At his jacket, around her shoulders
The faint smell of him
Rising from the fabric
The taste of cheap diner food
And burnt coffee
Lingering in her mouth
As bitter as her words had been
Oblivious to the storm
She stares
At the ground
Focusing on the tips
Of her bright red shoes
As the rain falls upon them
Like spurned lovers
Leaping into the sea
The crash of thunder
Felt in her chest
Near the dull ache
Of her regret