noon at the café

the scents of the café are making me ill
flatulence, perspiration, beer and sorrow
clash together in a horrid
symphony of the senses
i read the great existentialists
in their native tongue
feeling superior to the patrons
betting on today’s horses
northern winds are delaying the springtime
and taking my youth with it
as it blows into another cold war
he’s moving to the warmer climates of the heart
so i celebrate another year alone in my ennui

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