Monica Oswal writes

Coffee tales

Waiting in the coffee house,
folding paper napkins into squares and triangles,
She remembers,
was it a year ago
or   more

Shredding the paper napkins into
"Does it matter?"
and
"No it does not"
She looks at the last scrap
pays a hefty tip,
walks out of the coffee shop
clutching at
"It does not"
at the bend on the street
she encounters a gust of wind
and surrenders it eventually.

Same coffee shop,
same table,
same chair,
same menu,
same coffee
warming her hands
similar circumstance
of his absence
from the chair across

Stoic, she musters up
a smile
and toys with napkins
that sit tidy
the coffee is stronger
just as she is
tipping heavily
she leaves
the aroma of the coffee
trailing her.

 Desiring -- Daniel F. Gerhartz