This used to be my daily pause-café,
bright, safe, if I came home at two AM.
I knew the waiters, and I greeted them
in French, Arabic, Portuguese, to say
the same things – ‘Wretched weather !’ or ‘Nice day!’
I met friends here. I lived across the same
street, for months, then years, then a long time.
I’m killing time now, after a kiné
appointment, then the doctor, not till noon,
looking across the street at the front door
being painted turquoise! Where can harbor
be, if not here, where it was so long?
Café noisette, foam, and a tiny spoon.
Bathetic question… where do I belong ?

*

Dear Meg,
          Perhaps because I hadn’t fallen
in love, or into bed, with anyone
...