I arrive at the café at 2 ‘o’ clock exactly
Wearing my red beret like we had planned.
I am met by the stench of grease
and stale coffee. Hit by the nostalgia
I remember myself spending hours
Banging my head against the bedroom
Cupboard in synchronisation to my heart beat
Letting the energy drain away.
I was desperate to free-fall from a rope
But was distracted by the white, comforting
Glow of the computer screen.
The tapping of my fingers on the key board
Was like my racing pulse as I reached
Out into cyberspace. By accident yours
Was the hand that reached back with
Your stolen name and photograph
Past its expiry date.
I see you sat with your steaming cup,
Hidden by a newspaper.
You look up and study me with your
Intelligent lined eyes, half hidden
By your thick brown hair flecked with grey.
And I’m drawn into your world.
After a couple of hours – or maybe
A few days – you offer me a lift home.
Seat belt click. Car door slam.
They’ll find my red beret down by the beck.
Just give it a few weeks.
