Coffee at the Corner Cafe

We stopped somewhere at a corner café
for coffee, hot, fresh brewed, hand ground
beans of what still might have been.

Sliding softly into seats yet warm from our departure,
He asked how are your children, I replied
they’re fine, then took my turn to ask how’s yours?

Your hair is longer, shorter, darker.

You’ve lost, gained, look happy.

Have you stopped, started, finished?

When, just yet, I still, almost.

And when the cups were cold, a breeze picked up downriver
breathing evening gently in our face,
reminding us, again, where it was we’re going
and how quickly we should be to get there in our time.

Well, it’s been good, looking great.

We really should, again, more often.

Then walked away, back to back,
pocketing the call we’ll never make,
the phone we keep on silent.

ma 8.26.04