At the Coffee Shop

There is an entire genre of poetry dealing with frozen moments of time, slices of life caught like a jewel in a web, spun out of words and images, trapped in the mind of a poet and then laid bare for all to see.

Any poet worthy of the name will tell you that we are all constantly surrounded by such moments, all one need do is to look with eyes that see, and then tell the world.

This is one such poem, a moment locked into my memory.


Her lip quivers
Shivering at the injustice
he threw her a few minutes ago.

I stand quietly beside
The red chair
Watching crystalline people
Pretending I am not waiting for you

Back to her he went
Like a child to a favorite toy
Forgetting how many broken toys
Are in his past.

I watch him as he uses her
A weapon against any kind of love

I see her, flaring tender jealousies
Willing herself to love harder

I want to gather her
Hug her like a child
Ask her why he captivates her.

And then I remember,
Being fourteen.

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