Cafe people.

Cafe people.

She was graceful,

In a slow and easy

Variation on a theme

That still had rhythm.

She practiced her steps

Every morning,

In the full length mirror,

Discretely positioned in a corner

Of her small grey bedroom,

And now made

A sedate kind of progress.

Even after so many years

Of disappointment

She still had the moves,

And negotiated the space

Between tables

In a soft, low heeled shuffle.

She carried the music

In her head,

Their favourite song,

The memory of the dance

Sustained her.

And the merest

Hint of his smell,

That still lingered

In the gaps between

Her recollection.

And the tingle

That took her fingers to

The place on her cheek

Where she felt his kiss,

Could still bring her to tears,

After so many years.

The spotty kid,

With the baseball cap

Turned front to back

Drinking a can of soda

Like a highball,

Gave her the eyeball.

He thought the old lady

Was disgusting,

And would have pitied her,

But found the words

Too hard to come by,

So he looked away.

She sat down with a sigh

Too tired to care

What he thought.

It was her hope, that one day

He would find his way

To an understanding

Of what it was like

To grow old,

Have all the moves

But lose the need to make them.

She used to be a dancer

But turned her ankles now,

Too swollen from

Pushing the shopping cart.

She used it

To carry the weight

Of a broken heart.

And every day

It got harder to blink

Away the tears.

She had practiced

For so many years

It had become second nature

But now, even nature

Seemed to conspire

Against her,

And the cold was rolling

Through her bones.

The morning sun barely touched

The edges if it,

And one day soon she

Was going to forget

How warm she felt

When she heard the words to their

Song.

If she lost the tune

That might be the time

To call it a day,

There would be nothing left

In the broken strings

And frayed chords,

To make her want to stay.