A rumpled coat of a man taps his toes
against the legs of a cramped corner table.
He has circles of sweat under his arms.
The cuff on his pants is too short,
his shoes scuffed and worn.
He places his order and watches
a well-dressed woman move toward him.
At the next table another woman stands
to greet her. They appear to be old friends.
The man pays attention out the sides of his eyes,
pupils darting toward them like a metronome.
He thanks the waiter for his coffee, drops
three sugars in and doesn’t know what to do
with his hands. After each sip he stares
into the cup, searching the bottom.
He folds a sugar wrapper,
unfolds it, rolls it into a tiny tube,
imagines greeting and hugging those
coming in. He can nearly hear their laughter
as he tells his latest stories. He reads
a paper left by another customer.
Throughout the afternoon he anticipates
a shift into allegro, the tempo change
that signifies action with closure.
The women at the next table
share another piece of cake.
It is dark out when the man leaves,
streetlights almost warm enough to shine.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 5.
Former owner of a craft beer bar, SM Stubbs was born & raised in south Florida. He currently lives in Brooklyn. His work has appeared in numerous magazines, including Poetry Northwest, Puerto del Sol, Carolina Quarterly, New Ohio Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Crab Creek Review, December, andThe Rumpus.
See all items about SM Stubbs
