“Where would you like to sit?”
Yet something I rarely get.
I wondered what he thought.
Or did he at all…
One person reading a book.
One person staring out at the rain.
One person with his head resting back.
And me just trying to ignore the pain.
Scattered throughout the place
Each alone in our own little space.
Is he thinking of his spouse?
The work he needs to do on his house?
Or only the words he will over and over relay
“…and the soup of the day…”
As Phil Collins songs played.
I sipped hot coffee and ate my cake.
“What kind of tips do the loners pay?”
I’d totally soaked the seat.
Sweat slid me around those who’d sat before me
Fabric softener times five hundred seventy three.
So much it had dripped down my legs to my feet.
While in my head I composed this poetry.
I felt guilty for not cleaning my plate
But food looks so much better at 2am
Much more appetizing
Than it actually tastes.
“No box for me,” I lied, “I’m running late.”
“I have errands to run anyway.”
I laughed to myself
Was so easily said!
In 10 minutes I’d be back in my bed!
Maybe I’d not be a liar and buy flowers instead.
When a voice interrupted the ramblings in my head.
One of the four of us spoke:
” Do you often come here alone?”
” I like to be away from the questions, the decisions, the phone! At first I was sad to be here alone but now I compose poetry I will write when I get home.”
We talked of books.
Mourning characters at the end of a great
Her current book which was graphic and gory.
How I’d stay awake reading until morning
And if I didn’t like the ending
I threw it in a fury!
(A trait I passed to my daughter which I willingly shared.)
A book should be thrown
One that you own
If it ends with the enemy on the thrown!
We chatted about authors.
We spoke of our daughters.
And at the end of our talk
She wrote her favorite books down
On my to-go pizza box.
I should go home and get in my bed
I know the lack of capability in my muscle disease legs.
This outing had brought happy thoughts into my head.
I went and bought some flowers instead.