SIPPING ALONE

Peculiar
          How the setting sun
          bisects the tabletop
          at the outdoor café
                         Part sun
                         Part shade
          coffee in my hefty cup
          rippling like low tide
          in the wake of passing pedestrians
         
          No one stopping to share a cup
          No one stopping to hear my stories

          So it is just me and the Jamaican blend,
          roasted to enrich its flavor

          And as the afternoon grows bored
          with my companionship,
          the shadow rolls across the table
          like death’s profile
                         while the Jamaican dawdles and cools
                         at the bottom of my cup,
                         as empty tables gather around me
                         like bewildered disciples

          Yet I stubbornly remain,
           waiting for my cup to be refilled,
           and the chair across from me to be occupied