Sitting in a side-street café,

Staring out at the rain.

My eyes as wet as the windows,

Mirroring my pain.

 

Plain bone china teacups,

Cutlery in steel,

Rose bud in a little vase,

Like me it isn’t real.

 

Blue and white check tablecloths,

Slate grey skies outside.

Teardrops in my coffee,

You left me with no pride.

 

Not the man I first met,

Nor the one I thought I knew.

Not the man who loved me,

But the one who left me blue.

 

Waitress clears the tables,

I guess she wants to close.

Looks at me kind of funny.

I’d best leave, I suppose….