Ghosts, an Outdoor Cafe

            
                                                                                   by Dave Seter




                                                      Her lips form an over-tightened bow,

                                           withholding her gift of riverine words,

                                           while she squints towards the overflowing fountain.

                                           His and hers—innards of burritos—lay spilled

                                           on cobalt blue ceramic plates.  The couple        

                                           shares a table.  From where I sit I can see

                                           the boyfriend clearly dislikes fountains.

                                           He itches tattoos and stubble and lifts his face

                                           toward the sun, then stands and demands

                                           she hold his cigarette (he’s going inside for a piss). 

 

                                          Why am I reminded of playgrounds,

                                          third grade, girls wearing their first dresses

                                          to school against the odds of tripping feet

                                          thrust into the world by wordless boys?

                                          The fact that the woman obeys

                                          speaks to the symbiosis couples fall into.

                                          Should it even matter to me that, inward-turning,

                                          the woman inspects cigarette, fingernails,

                                          reaches into the adjacent planter, plucks

                                          and gently touches a rosemary feather

                                          to the still‑lit cigarette?  She follows the smoke

                                          rising.  Is it any business of mine,

                                          the way people set loose their ghosts?