Cafe Breakfast Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

The mustard walls were stained
By years of damp and condensation,
While the floor a giant chessboard
And I felt just like a pawn,
As the bacon sizzled softly
In the pan behind the counter,
I stared out of the window
And I watched the breaking dawn.

My coffee cup was empty
Like the room in which I sat,

No words or conversation
That could pass the time away,
The street was still and silent
Not a single soul I saw,
While clouds above held sorrow
With my thoughts of yesterday.

I tapped upon the table top
The rhythm of my life,
As I waited for my breakfast
Yet I yearned for something more,
My hunger burned so deep inside
My heartache slowly grew,
As all my woes and problems
Lay outside that cafe door.


Copyright Andrew Blakemore 2011