The café in the village near where I live
serves good food,
ordinary cool red wine that taste like wine
and hasn’t got vanilla, strawberry, or nutty flavour,
words experts are so fond of using when describing wine
(Me, if I want vanilla I go buy an ice cream).
I go there because of a girl’s smile,
the cook who also serves at tables.
Young? Yes!
Tragedy hasn’t cast shadows into her brown eyes,
her face is still unlined by regrets
and she’s in love with the boy who comes in drinks a coke
and is so shy that he looks at her sideways,
wonders when he’s going to invite her out.
Soon they will be a pair
she’ll be pregnant
he’ll no longer be shy,
going out with the boys
coming home late
and dinner will be cold.
But for now
let their hearts sing a duet of love
before each one find a solitary rhythm
that tolls till end of life.