At The Ikon, Again

Sitting at the Ikon
alone on a Monday night.
Staring at my mocha
as the sugar dissolves
slowly into the cup.

Smoke fills the air
as two ladies argue
over what to do next.
"That sounds dreadfully boring."
"Oh come on, give it a try."

A young man bellows
deep from behind the confines
of his green alumni sweater.
Tables teem with the
comings and goings
of socialites, sippers,
and simple minded
wanna-be's.
An ant farm in a
gallery bar, too proud
to let any one of them out.

She's not here tonight.
It's a shame.
Me in my nice shirt
and gray coat,
trying to look like
I know what I'm doing.

Replaced by a lovely
thirty-something with
hair just longer then mine.
Her slender frame glides
in and out of the tables
like the floor was
covered in ice.

Not so different then last time.
A jolly old man shakes
the ground as he
roars with laughter.
BANG!
She pounds the coffee press,
preparing for yet another
long night at the Ikon.

I really
wish
she
was
here.