A 50’s mid day sun
through the over sized pan of glass.
The cafeteria is empty, save two lonely souls
that are eating up sad minutes.
Small flecks of dust are held,
in the afternoon rays.
A forlorn salt shaker stands, casting shadows
over the back of the pepper mill
He has thought about his opening
gambit again and again,
his cigarette twitches in nervous hand
Her eyes, unsettled, investigate the skin on
her arm as
her coffee grows cold
They have nothing in common,
save the place and time
and the view across Main Street.