Poetry 'n Prose

Before The Coffee Goes Cold

He sits in a café flicking

Bits of cake off the notebook

He has to tell her,

But she hasn’t come here yet

He has to tell her,

But he hasn’t anything to tell her

He has to tell her,

But he doesn’t even speak her language

He could learn it,

But he’d never find the right words

The right words haven’t been invented,

Still, he has to tell her

Before the coffee goes cold

She walks in to applauding smiles

As she approaches the table

He musters the words

“Sorry luv”

These words conspire

setting out to trip his tongue

of meaning and metaphor

to undermine his masculinity

and they succeed.

She looks into the strangers eyes

sweeping his wrinkles and crows feet

she just stands there BEING

a 5′ 8” vision of beauty

Losing composure he decides

that pointing is universally acceptable

“You left your headlamps on.”

Relief fills the room

She about faces

Races out the door waving


He sits there now watching

As she fumbles for keys

and sunlight plays with her hair

The coffee was warm.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

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