MLC : 8.45 - 6/12/05
I sit quietly with my coffee,
(Flat white, $3.00, Muffin Break.)
Watching, listening, smelling.
An animated girl, openfaced, long dark-blond hair uninhibited, twenty-four or so, is talking, laughing, joking with her friend -- I cannot hear her; they're too far away.
I hear a youthfully pompous, self-important, 'laying-down-the-law jargoning' of some management mantras in an 'I'm-trying-to-impress-you' voice. It grates behind my left shoulder. It intrudes.
Two police meander through the hall; unobtrusively noting everything and everyone; relaxed, friendly, approachable; their fluorescent yellow caps delineating their progress.
A woman and a man sip their lattes, appearing to be trying to impress each other. Too animated and unsure to be married; too intimate to have just met; too separate to be lovers -- yet.
The smells of coffees pervade all, mixed with mild garlic, toast . . . I guess the mix of food, drink, disinfectant, herbs, spices, people, . . . sweet, sour, fresh, stale, . . . a food-court smell.
Ambient noise of chairs scraping on tiles, laughter, clattering utinsils, chatter, registers, orders-now-prepared called out, discussions and of muted air-conditioning; presses, threatens, almost crushes me . . . tinitus!
The cleaning lady smiles guardedly back at when I smile at her, averts her eyes and continues about her business. She is efficient, measured, continuous. I admire her.
The elderly couple at the next table glance over and look as though they are wondering what I am doing. He is old -- almost or about my age -- (Irealise, fleetingly, my own mortality) -- battered, grey leather hat, sunglasses, grey-white/white-grey beard, shorts, socks, sneakers, blue-grey T-shirt. He looks relaxed. They look comfortable. They've been together now for more than half their lives. She looks haggard, tired, weary. She leaves to get another coffee or perhaps just to refresh herself. They are no longer interested in what I do -- if they ever were.
The young woman catches, once again, my eye. She is still as animated. Her expressions and her movements constantly changing, open, enthused, bubbling. I envy her her youth. They stand, she and her companion. She is taller than I'd thought. They hug -- the hug of friends departing or greeting.
The voice behind me has said that he must,". . . complete and implement his time-line; and now has left.
The elderly couple have also gone. I missed their going.
The hall is emptying rapidly.
The cleaning lady has been relieved by her non-identical clone.
The breakfast crowd has now dispersed.
A pigeon, just flown in through the gap, now scavenges the crumbs . . . it has just passed under my table. It looks at me as if to say,"Why do you find this interesting? It's part of my every-day." Then bobs a crumb and stutteringly struts away.
I hear some children.
The city moves along.
My coffee has grown cold.
noel
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Noel, So sorry to hear your Mum's in a bad way.
ReplyDeleteWe all reach an age when we have to prepare even though no-one can prepare our minds for the inevitable- we are infallible as we think our parents are. Having lost my Dad some two years ago (not that you may lose your Mum) but I can align myself with your coffee house experience - such beautiful thoughts of a time stood still.
Thinking of you.
Helen
Dear Helen,
DeleteI apologise profusely. Almost a decade ago, you were kind enough to comment on a post of mine. I did not reply. At the time, I didn't actually know about "Comments": I was still trying to navigate the whole concept of blogging.
My mum passed away not too long after this post. It was both sad and a blessing in many ways. Alzheimers takes a person away from themselves. My parents had moved to Darwin, partly because they were staunch advocates for euthanasia but before the NT law could be used by them, it was recinded by the Commonwealth.
Thank you for your kind comments on the poem. I was actually sitting downstairs under the MLC building in Sydney, waiting for my wife who was at a doctor's appointment and just wrote down the train of thought. I, believe it or not, still vividly remember the incident -- even though I can't remember what I had for dinner last night.
Noel
This is wonderful poetry. Pensive and poignant.
ReplyDeleteI haven't talked to you here before but I have to say that I am very glad to have found you.
Anne
Dear Anne,
DeleteThank you. I apologise for the delay if a decade. As I told Helen, I didn't know about comments at the time and still don't actually know if you can read the replies that are made to others -- though I think that you can read others' comments.
I vividly recall the incident when I was waiting for my wife who was at a doctor's appointment. I was in the food hall beneath the MLC building in Sydney and this 'stream of consciousness' wrote itself over my flat white. Every person and incident was real and I can still see that pigeon.
Noel