Caffe Latte. Poem by PAUL COLVIN

It’s 12.13, my phone just rang, she’s sent another squillo.
I save these up and every night, I place them on my pillow.
My caffe latte, holds my gaze, as I start to ponder:
What my love is doing now, I so often wonder.

I smile when I call her name, she always looks so smart
And over here, she’s gaining fame, my precious work of art.
I wonder what she’d see from here, watching from the pavement?
Sipping coffee, slowly watching, people in amazement.

All shapes and sizes passing by, with all the women pregnant
And all of these are refugees, I’m sure she’d have a comment.
Drunks are hanging onto poles, singing as they stoop,
Their flailing hands, can’t help them now, they’ve had more than a scoop!

The business lady seeks a bag which must be made of leather
And haggles with the market trader, by God this one can blether.
The canopies are blowing hard, a wave of differing colours
But then she walks, with brand new bag, she won her price with honours!