Saturday, November 23, 2013


As his coffee does suggest,
this man is more than a little bitter.
Sits in a sullen trench coat of leather alerting
passersby to the black pools of his heart.

Oaken table and oaken chair,
a murmuring candle that couldn't care less.
She only seats herself as this spill of rowdies
may soil her dress at the public house.

Their conversation starts aloof,
covert gestures regarding the fools surrounding.
They both put their elbows on the table and write out
essays about the dwarfs in the other booth.

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