My Girl Friday (I.P.)

A sea of mundane faces – sodden,
black umbrellas drift on by, and then
she catches my eye. White bobble-hat –
knitted scarf to match – nose pressed hard
against my window.

Four iced buns she buys; comes here
every week. Gives me half a crown;
the change, she pops inside her glove.

I watch her skip outside...taken by the tide
of pin-striped trousers, anoraks and faded jeans –
in her white bobble-hat, knitted scarf to match.

I put the money in the till – still warm from her hand,
and wave goodbye. Think about her going home –
back to her mum and dad; a brother or a sister
perhaps, or maybe one of each.

Funny – the way they say, ‘you don’t miss
what you’ve never had’, but today, like
every other Friday, I wipe my eyes
with the sleeve of my shirt –
then get on with my life.