To be is to be-coming

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.

 

 

 

 

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