There is a tapping rhythm
aroused beneath footsteps
in sync with seconds
upon silver watches
upon arms
of two men in black
peering beneath Scully Caps
unaware of the distance
a motion makes
in the pattern
smoke drifts from a mouth
after a cigarette falls in hand
braced in the heat of skin

At the sidewalk’s end
heads slowly look upward
from the window of the café
pressed upon a canvas of thoughts
watching as they raise one arm
to strike a match in one fluid motion

Heat begins to rise
a think film of sweat
develops upon the skin
eyes burn into emotion
set around the room
while the taller one waves
the smaller one on
into oncoming traffic
without ever looking back

Thick layered fog.
consumes them
I wonder
when it is going to rain.