Ode to the cafe of love
This city is full of half faces
ones that deny a half smile or nod
Preferring to half look, both at me and away again.
I am wholly sick of these half places.
Sick and tired, but once more I must check that
my old haunts are alive and well.
I pass with a faint smile, I have
no need for them anymore.
Love, in the Cafe Amore, where I’d sit
and watch life happen to others
with a coffee that would always go cold.
Too bitter, but not without froth.
Of course, I would always eat the biscuit.
It’s a funny term, ‘haunts’, but it’s exactly what I did.
Stalking to and fro, waiting for a vacancy in their al fresco seating.
Awful customer, taking up space for 1 drink,
investing 1.60 for some respite.
Buy a sandwich, for later, gives me an extra 20 minutes.
I have the same habit still,
of sitting with lukewarm coffee, staying just a little bit too long.
But I no longer sit at the Cafe Amore,
It really did for me all it could,
offering me a slice of the world when I no longer felt a part of it.
I found life in the Cafe Amore, between the sandwiches and pastries,
in the contentness of nursing a coffee.
If I were to return it would be to an empty cup.
O, Cafe of Love, you were home to me.