I sit in my coffee shop,
day after day,
moving the spoon
to catch the white streak
the overhead light
swirls in my cup.
Sit and watch
no watching.
Maybe I could change that?
Light up the gray faces
on the counter stools.
Next Monday, I will wear shoes
that don’t match,
maybe a tennie and a boot?
Tuesday, a pink polka dot tie,
with my Purple Heart pinned
outside my coat.
A large orange comb
in my left over hair, Wednesday.
Thursday, the rainbow bandanna
my only daughter gifted me long ago,
On the first day of the weekend,
my teeth in a glass on the table.
But that would not be nice
to the young waitress
who wears the watermelon uniform.
She doesn’t look at me
when she always smiles,
but she is very careful with my cup,
filling it even when it is almost full.
Then, Saturday, my old,
rusted service revolver.
Just set it on the table
in full view.
Would the cook notice
like he does when I sit too long?
I don’t come on Sundays
because it is closed.
But the next Monday, it changed.
Looking up from my swirls,
I spied a pert, older woman,
bold red hat,
purple polka dot dress,
twinkling blue eyes—
and Oh that smile.
Originally Published in Lit Shark Magazine