mmmcxxxiii

A Restaurant in Time

a red apron a cup of coffee the rattle
of silverware a decanter of raspberry
jam a decanter of ketchup. the sun
brightens a brunette, no longer in
the fog. cole garage. should i make
a reservation for french speaking night?
i look out to a man in a yellow shirt.
he looks like several people i know.
‘i’m sorry that i left your book at the
library.’ green breeze with purple buds,
purple blooms in the breeze. door
squawk, stroller door, blooms, clicks,
wadded napkin. ‘so i’d go back in
there 25 more minutes,’ click, ‘what
i need is.’ click, downtempo. red
pickup truck in a green breeze—
look at the sky-coated pole. wadded
napkin. ‘for me it’s a matter of ...
it’s not every day i ....’ the door
opens again and closes again. the
one fellow brave enough to eat out-
side takes off his beige coat. the
sun is very informal. i had a look
around in the green breeze, all the
things i ever think about, in a new
language. another mother comes
in carrying a purple bundle. she is
given an orange menu. ‘milk for
me.’ and a barrel of pink blooms.