The café door creaks open and a cheerless couple,
Thirty-five years together today, shuffle to an empty table.
Their order of two large one shot lattes,
And a slice of carrot cake with two teaspoons.
Is taken by the bright young female server.
Their coffees, which would earn a Neapolitan barista
Instant dismissal with their passable similarity to
The water in which the cups will later be washed,
Are delivered with another winning smile.
Husband and wife instantly reach for their smartphones
And settle into a prolonged and gloomy silence.
Not a word passes their lips, save for the occasional
Whisper to share the contents of an email
Or comment on a social media thread,
A sigh or nod the barely perceptible response.
They remain as wedded to their screens
As their thirteen year old grandchildren,
Whose own behaviour at the breakfast table
Incurs their disapproval and chastisement.
They leave the café as quietly as they arrived,
Avoiding the jaunty “thank you, see you soon”
From beside the espresso machine.
Tony Quarrington 