the Cafe

I'm trying to write a bit in the style of Billy Collins.

"John,"

"John,"

"John!"

 

"What!?" I pleasantly ask of her,

Snapping out of my reverie.

She asks what I was thinking,

Sighing, I say it was nothing.

 

And though I do my best to suppress it,

The tiniest smile creeps past my lips.

Hers flashes back, greeting mine in kind,

And with that knowing look in her eyes

 

I can see her wheels turning,

the wonder at me from seeing mine,

Seeing me lose myself, my place -

My time.

 

And I can almost feel her probing in to me.

Almost hear her unvoiced questions.

Wondering, where do I go?

When I suddenly glance off to the side

With a faraway, unfocused expression,

Squinting my eyes at the setting sun.

 

What world was I  lost in, I see her ask.

Was I on some grand adventure,

battling my ship against the seas?

Or was I figuring out some invention, 

Fighting one of the world's plights?

Was I pondering some pleasant memory,

Perhaps of me and her, on a road trip to the city?

 

But I shrug my shoulders that it was nothing,

For it is better for her not to know

That located behind her,

In a quiet corner of the cafe,

Sat a beautiful brunette,

Tenderly eating a banana.

 

 

The End

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