None of us
have any business
understanding each others'
references, in truth
blank stares are all we give
I used to go
for a coffee now
and then, irregularly
the nights weren't
altogether so long.
People don't talk
I listen
Someone said near me,
"what am I saying...hmm..."
rhetorically, of course, but why
think the tips of our tongues
should always have
answers on them
One milks her coffee
spreads out the moments
our conversations consisted of
spreading out
each drink, meal,
day, year, you name it
She's there again someday
in the chair that's usually
mine, she has come
and is sitting in it
casually "Hello", You "Oh my"
and "what a surprise" for both
but I leave for
a sofa, coffee so close
to spilling
Neither one looks
directly at
the other, conversations
live within us
not between. I never saw
when she left
nor, I suppose, she me.