A sip of life

He sits in a bench in front of a coffee shop,
He watches bikes and tanned people flit by
From behind his cigarette smoke.

He tells me,
"I make paper roses for women at the bar."

His children are all grown, he says.
He's worked all over the country
But there's nowhere he'd rather be
Than right here.

There's something special about
A place where no one cares who you are.

"They're trying to force development
On it, but I think they won't succeed,"
He says, as cars parade by without a pause.

"It's never too hot or cold, it's just
Perfect." He cools his mouth with a Cola.

A young blonde looks into his wilting eyes
And inquires how he's been. Nostalgia
Flutters across his face, and she's gone.

An old hippie comes out with his coffee
And joins him.

A companion, they're both alone.

by Ana Ribeiro

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