he strolls in
to the gray paged light
of kaldi’s coffee & books
seeking my table

it’s an old haunt of mine
down on main street
that’s no longer there

i nod to him
noticing he looks
hawaiian shirt out of place
this far inland

as he sits
the waitress materializes
liberating a beer from the table
that spent it’s time there
wishing it were a bourbon

promises are made about eggplant lasagna

we hear edith piaf
off somewhere in the distance
agreeing with an accordion

my lips have his eyes transfixed
as i tell him,

“You’ve turned me into your Yoko.”

he cackles up the side of bookshelves
laughter finally reaching the tin tile ceiling

“Why can’t you be happy with that, darling?”

“Because, when I arrived, it was already broken.”

“But you must pay…”

the yellow beeswax candle
the only fire on the table between us
extinguishes itself in the iron holder

“You should be grateful, all my characters die at the end. Besides, you’re more Idi Amin than Lennon…”