Martin Stannard on the Other Side of the
COFFEE
And so they searched for the umbrella
but couldn't find it. What was Mr. Weather
planning in his mysterious cave? Everybody
had lots of information but didn't seem to
know anything worth knowing. Never mind:
as soon as they'd adjusted their clothing
they went for coffee, a beautiful couple
in the eyes of The Lord. It was only
a modest café but it suited them to a tee.
Someone had tied a horse up outside
and left it; perhaps they'd gone shopping.
This was, after all, a city renowned for
its superior retail outlets and not only for
a lot of gang-related violence. A waitress
was pretending to be a moment
of extravagance in a tawdry day but
like all other failed attempts she failed.
Great legs aren't enough. While they sipped
their coffee, a window cleaner cleaned
the window, a traffic warden wasted
a couple of words on the horse, a crocodile
of schoolchildren trooped past the window
headed for Valhalla, a postman collected
mail from the box on the corner,
and it started to rain. The drops of rain
were big ones: it was that big drop
sort of rain. Low sky got lower.
Members of The Umbrella Club, had
there been such a club, would have been
so fucking smug. It seemed like
a good idea to order more coffee.
He used to think it upset his stomach
but now he wasn't so sure and he liked
to drink it. It helped him stay awake all day.
© Copyright Martin Stannard 2004