Baked Bread and Coffee


The concrete stench of rain spoils
baked bread and coffee seeping streetwards;
I tell myself in vain: 'Be calm'.

And she's smiling, framed
by the multicoloured panels of an awning,
dressed as I expected: casual, baggy,
unassuming, drawing on a roll-up freshly rolled.

 Approaching, I tense to metal.
Labouring to walk and breathe,
no power for the garnish of a smile,
I hear a 'Hi!' and awkwardly I freeze
mid-step - no spit, no wit:
all adult in an adolescent style.

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