Waiting

This café is too close to the street

for outdoor tables.

The traffic rumbles by across the bricks

disrupting my reading

and flavoring my coffee

with an aftertaste of exhaust.

Where are you?

You said you’d be here half an hour ago.

My large latte is almost empty

And I’m cold,

but it’s colder inside.

You didn’t answer your phone,

but I left a message saying I’d be here

for another thirty--

no make that forty minutes.

The morning’s turning into afternoon

and I’m waiting,

wondering why I’m not important enough

for you to come the way you said you wanted to

or even call

or remember that I’m here, for you.

 

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

So deeply bittersweet. You paint such a vivid, visually gripping image of the waiting... the anxiety...the inner voices... the empty feelings... So well written and voiced...

[Jean P. Prudhomme]

Good. It works for me.