The Only and the Lonely

The Only and the Lonely

She’s old her eyes have the faded shade
of stone washed denim, dressed in black,
“since my husband died” she says, sits in
my café and drink a cup of hot chocolate
every afternoon.

Not married, she has been alone too long
has invented her children, sits and talk to
them on the mobile phone; awful children
her mobile never rings, tells me that one
daughter is a lawyer