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
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,
“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.