The Observer

The Observer

It was the aroma of his Borkum Riff that first caught my attention
Then I spied him tucked there neatly in the corner of the cafe
Like a well-worn ornament - ancient as he was.
His eyes never gazed upon other diners
But instead, they were always looking outward to the busy traffic
And the general hospital across the road.

His empty cup and plate, silent in front of him, witnessed
His deep contemplation, between puffs of sweet smelling smoke,
Of the urban scenery outside the cafe.

The turned up collar of his sweatsuit, the pink inner T-shirt and his Adidas sneakers
Spoke of him having just returned from a jog and was here to freshen up
But it was his deep concentration, the deep furrows on his forehead
That suggested  a story different from just a simple coffee break.

We sat like that for a while, an observer being watched
Never would I comprehend his observation
Neither would I dare a blatant question
So I settled for an intuitive conjecture;
Mayhap his relative was ailing in the building across the road
Or perhaps he was contemplating himself residing there.

While I could only guess at his motive, Mine was never in doubt
I was curious of his faithful gazes, kindled by
The sweet smell of his Borkum Riff.

Lambert
(22/01/2013)