Coffee Break
.
He glances at her, she, up at him,
Curious smiles obscured by espresso
Cappuccino steam, skim latte venti…
She tries to concentrate, look intellectual:
Three thick new novels in front of her,
Only able to afford one,
But her eyes keep straying
Surreptitiously.
He’s passably handsome, well-dressed…
Only four tables intervene.

What would it matter?
She’s only a waitress
Dressed like a princess,
Putting on airs.
It’s her day off, after all.

He pays obvious attention
To his paper: the Times, naturally.
Ostentatiously flashing
Business section headlines,
Trying to sneak in a free read
And not just confined to newsprint,
But also watches wisps of hair straying back.
An occasional pianist’s fingers
Brushing auburn from her pale, freckled face,
Dabbing brown paper to scarlet lips.

There’s really no hope.
All he does is wait tables
In tuxedo and tails
Envisions becoming
A great financial wizard.

He wonders how those hands would feel
Stroking him, caressing him, playing him
While her mouth smears him in crimson
As he mounts her, pulling her closer.
Imagines her legs wrapped around him.
She contemplates once more her void:
Nighttime loneliness not even romance novels,
Love songs on the radio, or her tabby
Can satisfy; gives half-serious thought, maybe
Find some semi-plausible excuse, wander over.

It’ll never happen.
He’s late for work; she’s far too pretty.
Her coffee’s finished; he’s too good looking.
They stand as one, last glimpse, turn,
Leaving, two dreams by separate exits.