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The Cafe

by Peter Andrewartha, Northwich, Cheshire, UK

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The candles flicker and the
Faces gather
In the cafe of the night.

The first and the second and the third
Smile and look toward my companion:
She is pale and has scarred arms.

She looks at me in a moment's panic,
Not knowing what to say -
I squeeze her knee under the table:
Her breath calms: "Hello Miss," each say.

The pool of light surrounds
Our faces as we talk and
She forgets herself:
The first and the third have no answer -
The second shies away.

The scars have their own tale
To tell as the night wears on,
And smoke thickens - the
Words grow taut: the ideas
Concentrate.
"Hello Miss," I say, taking
Her face and kissing it.

Her anger boils, she uptips the table
Fleeing into the toilets.
The door slams shut, I smash it down;
Take my precious clown and her razor:
Seat her, love her

Among my friends.
Despair will say nothing;
Damage sees his own reflection in her; and
Death can wait.

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Editor's note:

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