Really
I come here just to watch him
Though the atmosphere is tolerable
I suppose
Just the right mix of smoked wood and neon
With the jostling music of night-time fiasco
Weighing so lightly on a mind clouded
By no more than caffeine and fatigue
I can sit in solitary bliss
My intrusion slight
As his fair head flickers in and out of view
While the coffee in the cup before me
Is drained into someplace in my spleen
That aches for some kinder use
And thought I'm busy composing thoughts
For the day ahead
Scratching a monologue of trivial complaint
And though I keep up the pretence
Of traditional soirees on the traditional night
In the traditional solitude, really
I come here just to watch him
A POEM by Jen Frankel. Use the search engine at the top to learn more about Frankel. OR CLICK HERE and read her BIO!
Really
