The Cafe

by Peter Andrewartha, Northwich, Cheshire, UK

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.

Editor's note:

• If you want to comment on this article, why not write direct to Peter Andrewartha?
• He will be pleased to hear from you!

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