by Raphy Mendoza

Created on: March 07, 2008

Service Station

As the double doors opened, I heard that wood-metal squeak,
And the frosty, winter air rushed through the open space,
letting the outside in and the floor boards creek.
Chills crept down my spine; I shivered.

Their footsteps cluttered through the aisle,
Like the Africans drumming, out of beat.
Every movement, every sigh failed to create rapport,
Like the Spanish flamenco, dancing out of beat.

I smiled and said Hello: "What would you like, sir?"
"Coffee" he muttered, not looking at me.
I waited... "and for the lady?"
"Espresso" she muttered, not bothering to see.

Drip, drip... drip. The tap dripped behind me.
He gazed past the double-glazing, mirrored in the dark:
He longed to leave here, society. More to leave him be.
I looked into his eyes, his reflection jaded and stark.

She rummaged through her papers. Flustered, unaware.
Neither made a connection, neither knew about the other.

"One coffee and one espresso. Anything else?"
As I passed he smiled back at me: "Thank you,"
I stood behind the counter. I looked into his eyes,
His reflection jaded and stark.

I smiled.
Can't she see what she's missing?

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