Sitting in the cafe
outside the station
on the pub side
of Hither Green.
Foreign Coke cans
Nuttella for sandwiches.
A big plastic bin for bread.
The metal ashtrays
with wide sides
are pretty in their
simplicity
like the good quality
tiled floor
which is not
all over the same.
And has not been cleaned.
-
Seems there is just one guy
working here
and nobody eating
except me.
I wish I had my camera on me
to grab all the floatings
and wafts
coming in through
the door behind me.
-
He is a nice-looking Indian bloke.
Looks so bored.
He had his head in his arms
staring over a Daily Mirror.
I am considering the sachets of sugar,
the simple white mug on each table.
Green chairs,
glass salt and pepper pots
with punctured metal tops.
The food comes
on a wide, white plate
and everything is too hot.
-
It’s an interesting class of sunglass wearers
and fashionable jeans.
Swagger.
And over-friendly conversation
with the all-frying maestro.
The ketchup tastes of watered-down vinegar,
‘yeh brown sauce, cheers’
says rather-nice-brown-shoes-man.
He has a can of Coke too please.
A mosquito
flounces over my food
and everyone is looking
furtively at me writing
when I’m not looking.
-
Man takes a Sun
and an ashtray to his table,
and he waits for his girlfriend
who had an accent
and might have sat outside but decided no.
The kids are walking down from Northbrook
and all the bus stops on the main road
make noise
like they are coming in
but with my back to them
are only passing
and only glances
and noise to me
I guess.
