Do people purposefully go to a public place and discuss private problems, as if being in public will keep things quiet, calm, from exploding? Or are they not meaning to tiff, but happen to bring their troubles wherever they go, and just happen to be where I am - I, unfortunately noticing the tenseness in their demeanors as I walk by from the counter to my table, as I wait for my coffee, as I sit and read in the corner half a room away from them?
(A rather poorly-written poem without a title, which should be revised before long)
You can see from across the coffee shop
there is link between these two people,
but broken, or at least rusting, grating,
people so beautiful, so once-right,
so pretending to be right still.
Your headphones fill your ears but your eyes
see the words unspoken as her glance
flits to his and back away, so quickly,
her mouth shaping phrases short, hesitant.
You’re not eavesdropping. You wouldn’t want to
hear the sounds of those sharper hand motions,
his eyebrows lowering, her attention
on her food for a long five minutes.
You see them turn and twist their cups,
their voices, on either side of the table, unsure
if their link will hold, or if it, too, will crack,
and spill something all over their world
in a mess that won’t be easy to wipe up.