Table for One, Loving a Ghost

The waitress knows my order, she doesn't have to ask. Scrambled eggs and

coffee, wearing her morning mask. She puts an extra setting down,

then takes it back again. A habit she can't break, remembering back when

you used to sit across from me, reading the morning news.

Complaining about the weather and the holes in your shoes. Now it's a

table for one, by the windowpane. Watching the world go

by in the drizzling rain. The silence is loud,

where your laugh used to be. But in the reflection, you're looking at