The woman outside the window

The woman outside the window lifts the bag to her lips

Tea-cosy hat in black, she speaks to the paving stones

then spits her contempt

The stones know her well

and pretend they haven’t noticed

The woman outside the window appears not to see

the busy breakfast tables

She stands in loose leopard leggings,

rubs her back, organises shopping bags,

spits and takes another drink

The woman outside the window shields her eyes

Folds her quilted coat,

muttering her verdict on the morning

Releases her saliva slowly, foaming, to the ground,

then politely dabs her lips

The woman outside the window pulls a jamon bocadillo

from her bag, jaw cycling

Preoccupations shared only with

the pavement and the bench, whose discretion

she holds in high regard

The woman outside the window gathers-up her bags

and comes to the glass

She observes the breakfasters,

who are used to her, pretending not to notice

The woman outside the window sees it all