The sun sets in the time it takes for the waitress to come.
i) In light darkness we sit; how to order has slipped our minds.
ii) A thought of leaving… But here she is, behind a red smile.
iii) She holds a tray by her side: a pale sliver, wet moonshine.
iv) The sky: the far-off blue-green tint of a top-shelf bottle.
v) Faces in the twilight: wet rings on a half-cleared table.
vi) A man wipes the last drop of light from his chin; lifts his head.
vii) An old regular nurses his beard; the froth is long gone.
viii) A woman combs the day’s rays from her hair: blonde becomes brune.
ix) In the gloom of our reflected selves, indecision…
x) From here one might say that it was sucked into the city.
Variations at Café Chéri(e)
1 December 2011