CAFÉ SCHILLER Poem by Manuel de Freitas

It was all in vain, again.
I was miles away from Amsterdam,
if you see what I mean, though I liked
the black stripes on the couches, the tarnished
metal of the lamps, the self-confident step
of the waitress who served the drinks.

Today this woman will enter
my past. I don't know her name
and don't care to know it. She smiled at me,
or I thought she smiled, while I paid
for two decafs, a sparkling water
and a Jameson that left me a bad taste, of lovelessness.
I'll ask her for my change in forgetfulness,
the short-lasting memory of the blouse that squeezed
her breasts and conferred on her back
the unrepeatable impression of a prelude.

I, who am going to die, desired you.