Eight Cafe Scenes


A weasel in a shiny suit,

all slavering chops

and malintent.

Insinuating slyly that 

progression surely comes through

sordid impropriety


She does her best

to ignore the screams

and parks in the way

of almost everyone;

claiming special status

and entitlement,

even though she can’t

keep her fucking

children under control.


He is uncomfortable

that such an

important decision

is to be made by

someone angry that

syrup has caused

the foam to collapse.

The potential employee

decides to take

another job.


She grows frustrated

that her friends seem to think

that last nights soaps

are more real

and more important

than people dying

because of those stupid

kisses, given without thinking.


I do not like the mess

she said and looks

over to a lone man

who obviously won’t

mind her shit

dumped on his work


He shuffles in,

mug in hand

hoping he won’t 

be noticed; 

pretending that 

he bought it earlier.

He takes a seat

and hides 

in an alcove.

Staring into his cup,

empty as his wallet,

he takes a moment;

thinking how lucky he is, 

on a day like this, 

to be inside, 

for a few minutes before 

he is recognised

and moved on.


A moment of respite,

she takes her time

and savours her peace.

Relaxing momentarily,

completing the crossword

in one of the free tabloids.

She checks her phone

and sighs. A minor incident

that requires her attention.

She is pleased she asked

for a take away cup.


Right Swipe

“Had it”

Right Swipe

“Had it”

Right Swipe

“Had it”

One step away

from Logan’s Run.

And your friends

aren’t impressed either.


2 thoughts on “Eight Cafe Scenes

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