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Displacement

“For two,” I order as I ensue to pay
despite persistent protests behind.
“Next time,” I attempt to quell
as I draw open her seat
at the table closest to the window.
The grinding of beans and
rhythmic hymn of machines seem
to follow in cadence to
your moving lips.
I find myself lost in
the maze of your words.
I could never read into your
thoughts, an unusual sensation
to which I cannot help but
become curiouser and curiouser,
probing the suggestions your
dialect so eloquently play.
The dimmed lights exile your
shadow outside onto the pavement.
I cannot help but pity
the casted silhouette,
but my attention is drawn elsewhere.
Your presence is demanding;
I surrender everything I have
to that confidence you humble.
“Two hot chocolates with cream!”
the bartender calls as
I pardon myself to fetch our order,
rising in hesitance and retrieving
the hourglasses to your company.
As I turn and begin my retreat,
I suddenly stop to stare.
Since when did you have brown hair?
Where is your shadow?

Why are these cups empty?



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xXsmileXx This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 23, 2011 at 11:12 pm:
The first time I read this I thought it was a nice poem. Then a while later we come to present day and I read it again. This time my eyes must have been open a little wider because the poem had a lot more meaning to me. By the time I got down to the line about brown hair, I concluded my interpretation of this: elements of the game of life create patterns that stay with us even when the original players fade away. I think everyone who reads this will have a different memory with which it coincide... (more »)
 
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