He sat, coffee in hand, towards a monochrome photo of some bell tower,
The night outside drawing to a close.
Streetlights signaled the changing of the guard:
Pop!, pop and …. pop,
The deed was done and it was not meant to be undone.
With a flash, the photo melded into the eggshell backdrop,
An instant of re-membrance,
Like the kick of caffeine,
A sudden reminder.
He saw her face, blindingly painted and facing him,
Just as His had been that night,
When she was still his her,
And he was a better he;
The night negation begot creation.
Broken timelines of ‘was’ act as building blocks
For ‘to-be’, for ‘I do’, for better or
For worse.
Shattering shouts of “Ceros! Ceros!, Ir a casaaa”,
Awaken the settled camarero who steps to the door,
Denying entry through sharp pantomime,
Turning away the loudly lonely drunkard,
Pivoting,
Mentioning:
“It’s time you go home. We all have to go.”
He stands, finishing the coffee to scratch an itch he can’t reach,
Like two too many cigarettes,
Leaves a note called ‘de nada’,
Escaping the clean, well-lighted place into the slumbering city,
Invigorated by his recent reminder of becoming.