ANDREW BLAKEMORE - Cafe Breakfast

Outside the rain was pouring down
As I sat all alone within the dirty cafe,
That offered me shelter, but little else.
I amused myself as I waited
By reading the badly spelt menu
That hung behind the counter
Scrawled in chalk upon the blackboard,
And felt I was back in school.
The mustard coloured walls
Were damp with condensation,
While the floor was a chessboard
And I was the pawn.
As I leaned upon the red-checked tablecloth
I noticed that it was stained with brown rings
From the teacups that had once resided there.
I moved the sugar dispenser a little to the left
In order to hide the worst,
But I could not hide them all.
And still I waited,
As the silver raindrops
Ran slowly down the steamed up window pane,
That masked the view of the High Street,
So I could not see the row of empty shops that stood opposite,
Yet I knew that they were there.
So instead,
I listened to the sound of the bacon
As it sizzled within the frying pan,
And hoped it wouldn't take much longer to cook.

Copyright Andrew Blakemore 2011

ANDREW BLAKEMORE

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