Beneath my beaten gray striped umbrella
I roam the sidewalks of upper Manhattan,
Listening only to the faint clap of raindrops
And the hard coins clinking in my pockets.

Last year I was in love with Lily in Seattle.
Her boss transferred her to Santa Monica,
After which my footsteps on the streets
Lost their fixed rhythmic beat, as did my heart.

I needed some new pavement.

Under a flashing pink and white neon sign
I draw a crisp breath of misty sky pieces.
Rosy hued street reflections proclaim Diner
With a burnt out e, sizzled to a fatigued crisp.

A heavy gutter splash pushes me inside,
Where I seek haven among vacant bar stools.
[What can I get you?] a perky waitress asks.
“Perhaps a cup of tea, to warm my bones.”

I’ve always preferred coffee.

She returns with a cup of tea and a biscuit.
[The tea is freshly brewed and quite hot.
The biscuit is a day old and on the house.]
“Thank you very much for your generosity.”

I sip the steaming fluid and absorb its essence.
The brew leaves a broken taste in my mouth.
The biscuit is an island in the sea of bitter.
Contemplative tears roll down my cheek.

I pay my bill with a piece of my heart.