Two, seated in the coffee shop.
Insinuating, simpering pop.
The waitress singing
sotto voce as the milk comes gargling
for the cappucino cup.
Their breakfast business done,
they linger, smiling, to pursue their talk.
Between them, corporately bonding,
professional charm minces its peacock walk.
Too old for youthful chemistry,
jaded and greyed by executive stress,
they dip and bow in conversation,
lingering on mutual admiration,
hoping, despite their faded disposition,
He wears a gold chain bracelet
and a greenstone ring.
Maybe shell see them
and ignore his folded chin.
Maybe hell like her lipstick
and her hair wont seem so thin.
You watch, sipping Americano
as they settle to a mutual gaze.
Met, maybe, years past at some business fair
and now old friends, you realize.
Edging towards him on her chair,
legs crossed beneath the table,
her skirt gets hitched, rides up her thigh.
But she is close engaged and doesnt care.
Her dangled foot slips in between his calves,
finding the soft nook where his ankles cross.
She rests it there.
If you've any comments on this poem, Adrian Hall would be
pleased to hear from you.