Two women out to lunch.
Sunny day, coffee.
Thick lipstick, deep red.
Lime-green nails tap-tapping.
Birdsong, a breeze shakes
the leaves. The waiter comes,
the waiter goes. All their words
become syllables, floating
like soap bubbles.

Now the coffee grows cold,
and they cheer and moan
at those old, old flames...

And then their meals arrive.
Forks clinking on plates.
Clouds moving in, and the wind
gets stronger. It's 2 p.m.
Plenty more life to burn.