She barks at him

bitterly

across two tables and a faux fire

(real flame, no wood),

he nods,

yuh, yuh,

nose angled toward his paper.

They’re married,

the cafe their living room.

Meanwhile, Nina Simone

and a squealing cappuccino machine.

A man, clearly successful,

speaks at air,

bluetooth lodged in both ears.

Opposite,

women burble of this and this,

while another couple, thick grey locks

lidded by heavy cowboy hats,

laughs together.

At a single,

a young one,

pale and half asleep, sits alone,

the lower half of her face parked in her palm.

Two dogs, wide eyed,

wait.

Spanish wafts over from the counter.

With warm cup held in both hands,

I drink it all in.