just-because-i-don't-paint therapy

*

'one for the road', he'd say

as he was drinking from his cup of coffee,
he kept on seeing her.
as smoke was rising from the ashtray,
he knew he should stop.

the grass, fine and sparse, her hair
the clouds dance, her laughter
the feel of the paper cup, her unlotioned hand
the brown of the timber chair, her eyes
the coldness of the aluminum table, her goodbye

she left without turning back
not even to see the door slam behind her
she left with no trace of regret
not even for the early times they shared

he gathered the ashes that fell on the table
washed down the coffee with a cup of cold water
said his thank you to the staff
put on his bag on his shoulder then walked away
after lighting another cigarette

repeat.