Sunday, 22 March 2015

A Rain Song

Drenched, soaking,
I enter the café,
Pocket empty of notes.

“A grande latte,
Make that a large”
“Cash or card?”  she asks
“A poem, actually.
I’ll pay with a poem”
She stares at me,
I need that coffee. I start,
My poem song.

At the corner table,
He sits alone.
I watch him,
Watch the rain.
The notes dance,
The notes fly,
A smile stains his eyes,
The coffee is still warm.

Drenched, soaking,
I leave the café,

Heart filled with the right notes.

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