I put down the cup
and let Side A play
for the fifth time;
the image – unlike this coffee –
is strong; Side B forgotten
as I stare hard:
tugged memories,
rocks of rum lifted,
driftwood of drugs scattered;
searching in vain.
Her eyes drill
into mine;
wisdom deep-pooled,
colour unknown;
my thoughts snared.
Smile quizzical;
but it is still a smile
and it knows something,
something cool;
something no-one else does –
except maybe me –
but I can’t be sure.
Maybe this image
has been drunk-captured
by a stranger?
Has a nervous compliment
passed their lips
about her beauty;
is this the look reserved
for such situations?
Maybe it’s not her that I know;
maybe it’s this look
I’m familiar with;
the look of patience
tarnished with pity
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