He and she
hand in hand
find a table in the window.
The sun slants in,
reflected from the cobbles,
from chrome hub caps
and baby buggy handles
on to the sleek lines of the expresso machine,
back to her eyes
shining
(with remembered desire?)
He places the carrier bags
on the soft worn leather
of the comfy seat in the window.
She looks to him as he
goes up to get her cappucino
(“Ciocolata on top, sir? ”)
They sit, smiling,
remembering,
and I
watch
and try
to read
my
book.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coffee-in-nero-s/
