A poem about nothing
He stirs his coffee with one of thoseHorrible plastic swizzle sticks,
Then lifts it from the cup,
Froth dripping and places
It on to his tongue.
I guess we all have bad habits
I am by no means exempt.
He's tall, or so I perceive him ~
His torso of course could be
Longer than his legs
Its hard to tell in this café
With a kitsch cloth
Covering the tables.
The man behind the bar
Flicks and wipes
As the cashier swipes numbers.
We have a cruel sun today,
Cruel because it belies
A capricious wind
And the odd hail
That whips across
Desultory shoppers.
I fumble with coins
To the burble of chat.
The man with the
Possibly long legs
Pontificates -
Something about existence.
I feel an urge to take
The plastic swizzle stick
And flick, fake milky froth.
I have a bad habit
Strangers have a curious
Effect on me -
I have an over vivid imagination.
A possibly tall man
Wearing a deerstalker
And two days stubble ~
I wonder if today will be the day
I shall write a poem?
Poetry by Elle
Read 634 times
Written on 2009-03-04 at 11:01
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