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New Year

Garden City is buzzing,
the café on the corner
has only seats left,
little iron tables
and straightback chairs.
She is pleased now
that she put
a canopy over the
shop front,
with straight sheets
of plastic,
it keeps in warmth
and shelters from storms.

It will be New Year,
another one on her own,
she doesn't mind.
As the night goes on
they will serve
steaming bowls
of moule and bread,
crispy rolls
to dip in the soup
and afterward
a mousse
chocolat with cointreau.

An accordion will play
and the daughter of her friend
Celeste will sing,
light and lilting
and if all the words are
not known
her clientele will
complete the spaces.

Afterwards, when fireworks
have flashed across the sky
and last bonhomie
has clapped shoulders
and staggered home,
she will sit on a stool
and quietly sip
her feet aching
her heart full,
this year,
this year, will be
an echo of last year.

Poetry by Elle