Cold Coffee

I have your keys in my left pocket
I put my coat on the empty chair
the waiter asks if I need a menu
I say no, I just need the air
the clock above the door says seven
the street lamp flickers in the rain
I watch the cars slide down the avenue
I watch the water hit the window pane

this is how I wait for you
with a cold coffee and a paper cup
I check my phone on the wooden table
I read the news and I do not look up
this is how I wait for you
this is how I wait for you

the radio plays a song from yesterday
a man is shouting at the traffic light
I tap my fingers on the glass
I watch the day turn into night
you said you had a late shift Tuesday
you said to meet you at the corner store
I bought the bread and the green apples
I left the grocery bags by the door

this is how I wait for you
with a cold coffee and a paper cup
I check my phone on the wooden table
I read the news and I do not look up
this is how I wait for you
this is how I wait for you

the door swings open, a draft comes in
someone shakes an umbrella dry
I look at the coat on the empty chair
I watch the buses rolling by
I know the shape of your winter jacket
I know the sound of your heavy boots
I have your keys in my left pocket
I watch the water on the roofs

the waiter takes the empty glasses
he wipes the table with a cloth
the neon sign outside is buzzing
a yellow light attracts a moth
I fold the napkin into squares
I put the coins inside my coat
I clear my throat and shift my weight
I read the words on a sticky note

this is how I wait for you
with a cold coffee and a paper cup
I check my phone on the wooden table
I read the news and I do not look up
this is how I wait for you
this is how I wait for you

I have your keys in my left pocket
I put my coat on the empty chair
this is how I wait for you
this is how I wait for you
this is how I wait for you