Drenched, soaking,
I enter the café,
Pocket empty of
notes.
“A grande latte,
Make that a large”
“Cash or card?” she asks
“A poem, actually.
I’ll pay with a poem”
She stares at me,
I need that coffee. I
start,
My poem song.
At the corner table,
He sits alone.
I watch him,
Watch the rain.
The notes dance,
The notes fly,
A smile stains his
eyes,
The coffee is still
warm.
Drenched, soaking,
I leave the café,
Heart filled with the
right notes.
