in the cafe across from my flat

its the second time this week 

I have settled for ordinary food and the company of strangers

A large bald man holding a notebook bursts in, looks right at me, I remember him

From a random exchange at the bar two weeks prior 

His name ping pongs in my memory just out of my grasp

When he stops at my table he mentions that his notebook

quadrile composition, is not as good as mine.  

Neither of us talk of what we will be writing

only the form and texture 

of our tools

Abruptly he leaves me

wondering if we are kindred souls

is as pointless a thought

as if words can spread

across boxes as well as read

between the lines.

The morning after

with the murder of crows clustered to the power lines

I gawk down at the hung over

minions waiting for brunch, swilling mimosa, nursing four barrel coffee and five alarm headaches

They overflow the side walk in their ugg boots and summer shorts.

My tea grows bitter 

my stare growing envious of their giddy nonchalance

When The bald man moves out from behind the clutch of girls

and looks up at my window.

Even though I do not know

Can he see me?

I just close the blinds.