Outside the trendy bistro
phone jammed into his ear
the dark-haired busboy
stands oblivious
to me, to the
entire urban
night-time tide
flowing all
around him.
Tears drip down his
cheek and off his chin
his stiff white cuff
is smeared with
nosesnot, gleaming
like high-priced
oyster slime
as his soft Spanish words
fall into the eddy,
pebbles pulled out of sight.
His red-rimmed eyes reject
this swanky scene,
bright silk dresses floating by
on arms of thinnest summer wool.
"It's such a balmy night!"
His life that was so full is empty now
she doesn't love him anymore
he can't believe it
he can't believe it
Barbara Riddle
June 2011
