Finger sandwiches and black Americano,
She watched others in the little high-street bistro
Aloof and from a distance,
A sort of elsewhere nowhere socialising.
She checked her phone screen,
The picture of the young man
Still unchanged from the last time she checked
Just a few moments before,
There were no missed calls to return,
No texts to reply to,
She lingered for some time
Peering at, and caressing her phone
There were still no texts.
Between delicate bites of egg and cress sandwich
She warmed her hands inside the deep pockets
Of her fawn-coloured cashmere coat.
She sipped her Americano slowly
Her glasses steamed from the coffee’s heat.
Just then, a phone burst into a merry tune
She turned her phone over quickly to look,
But it wasn’t for her,
In the corner, two girls sat, giggling
As they read their text, on their mobile.
She finished her sandwiches,
Dusting the breast of her coat
As if to expel wayward crumbs,
There were none, she was immaculate,
Smooth textured facial skin
With red seductive lips,
Her hair had been coiffured, beautifully,
Manicured fingernails had a luxurious sheen
That reflected the spotlights in the ceiling
Her coffee was now also finished
She pushed her cup away from herself
across the little square table,
No one had rang
No one had texted
No one had come
She sat alone
I watched her as she sat in our favourite spot
But from a distance
Elsewhere unsocialising
I checked my phone
Fifteen missed calls
Fifteen unread messages
Like her coffee
Our relationship was also finished
I pushed her away across my mind
Into the dark recesses
And walked away, unseen
She still sat alone
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