The London Fog
March 17, 2022
all you wish for in life
is to unwind in a booth
In the corner
Of a coffee shop whose baristas know your order by memory And your voice by ear
And you’ll sit in the late afternoon or early morning
And notice how the milk in your drink
Will swirl and dance like the clouds
Outside the large bay windows
The rays of sun will peek through the soft linen curtains And trace figures on you hand like a lost friend
Memorizing every part
As you write stanzas and lines
As if to memorize you
So that it will know you by name
When you finally come calling
You’ll leave little notes
Maybe short poems with your tip
And you’ll watch them smile
as you climb into the backseat of the taxi
Who knows you have no money to pay
But picks you up anyway
You’ll return each day
A little more tired than the last
But smile on your face when you enter the room
With shelves for walls and plants for a ceiling
Will leave thoughts of such in the dirt
You’ll talk to the walls like old friends
And to the books like lovers
You’ll read the words like you wrote them
And you know that no-one would ever check you
If you claimed you had
You’ll know the path through the standalone shelves
And booths
And pots big enough to climb inside and sleep
From memory
Full confidence as you walk with your eyes glued to your newest mess That the workers will beg you to read
You’ll balance your usual order on top of stacks of books Sitting on the antique table with only three legs
You’ll watch as the table tips and your drink feeds the floor And the books turn to ink on a page
And only when you’re given a new glass
Will you return to staring out the bay windows
Searching for old friends
Or unfamiliar faces
(Which are harder to see day by day)
Or rays of sun that puncture the blanket of clouds that covers the city A hazy late morning
With the scent of London Fog
Bittersweet as the tea