just one of the misfits

there are those who travel.

they are adventurers
and they eagerly explore new distances.
I am one of those who wait.
alone, but thoughtfully and patiently
preoccupied with my own poetry of silence,
found by the sounds of Chet Baker
approaching from the background like
a phantom comfort
and occupied by a shy darkness
in the corner of my favourite café,
in my safety nest
away from the apartment cliché.


I wait
and I'm noticing couples that enter.
they are nothing like me,
they don't just talk
but they also selfishly walk
and it seems like they live only for themselves
(and this poem is actually selfish
because it arises from my own needs)
while I'm losing myself in this maelstrom of decadence
and if they notice me, hell,
are they going to ask me
what happened to my self-confidence?
maybe even secretly laugh within
because certainly in their coloured outlook on life
I look like a picture hanging
of some not so spiritual motif
with a glass of water in front of me
(while they all have someone to bribe
with their false and exaggerated stories)
and a half full cup of coffee
already gone cold, by the candle
that was lit by one nice girl
who works here, I guess
out of pity, for me.


interesting moment of
poetic irony, misunderstanding
it seems


because I actually sit here in anticipation
for you,
because soon you will dance
through this door as a tango dancer
and kiss me in the mouth
and sit down opposite me
and ask me how I am
and I'll ask how are you
and we may order another coffee with milk, maybe a dinner,
maybe a bottle of good wine
and maybe we will get drunk
and then, as a consequence of it all, later
maybe we will make
love.


that scenario has already been played
repeatedly
in my head.


and therefore I wait
because it is not hard to wait
when you are concerned
and I'm still only one of those misfits
who know how to wait


in the manner of fine, but spent
gentleman.









 © Tom Del Braco