The Bakery

 

1.

I felt like an old poacher, 

without a gun, on unfamiliar territory. 

It used to be a hunting ground, 

when it was a hideaway, 

before it became a copycat coffee-shop, 

before there were too many friends, 

virtual and real, 

when communication needed thought. 

Casual encounters must have been rare even then. 

At best, a look or two, a rare smile. 

Now, that is not even a dream, 

the weight of experience 

is a drag on such quick wit. 

2.

I saw a best friend of old; 

she looked through me; 

that was not unexpected. 

Most people there seem busy, 

that’s not new; 

it’s always been a crime, 

a shame, to have time. 

If we had talked, 

we would have promised to meet again, 

not really a false promise, 

with too little hope. 

If we met again, 

we would have wondered 

when we became strangers. 

Or not wondered at all. 

3.

I smiled, inwardly, at two couples. 

There was always a Che Guevara and a Joan Baez, 

in t-shirts and old jeans, with wild hair and borrowed air. 

In a few years, they would become the other, 

dressed in formals, talking softly 

between clicks on their laptop or smartphone. 

Some will be sad, disillusioned and lost by then; 

most will have dreams, opportunities, 

expensive lingerie 

and a vacation at the Majora in the Maldives. 

The bakery always had a privileged touch, 

even when the puffs were five rupees 

and two could share 

couple of parotta and beef curry for twenty. 

There is too much body-spray now, 

yet the body stinks, 

too little cigarette smoke, 

not enough soda. 

How do they rebel now–

by going organic, 

by exchanging a few characters as protest, 

wanting to be a billionaire by twenty five?

Don’t get me wrong. 

I would not have noted all this 

if I had not met her. 

4.

She was two years my senior in school. 

We acted in a drama once. 

She was my mother, 

I the black sheep of the family. 

She slapped me, hard, 

the audience went quiet, 

it was that real, 

she got the best actor award 

and I nearly cried. 

Was that before or after 

that day I jumped out of a bus, 

ran to her and offered 

to carry two heavy bags of shopping? 

She had let me. That was fine then. 

We walked side by side, hardly talked. 

I deposited the shopped bags, 

she invited me inside, 

her parents and sister stood by her. 

I said, next time. She said, thank you. 

5. 

We noticed each other 

at the same instant. 

She said my name, 

without hesitation. 

I smiled, 

raised my hand to my cheek. 

She laughed. 

She collected her coffee, 

I a chocolate pastry. 

I took her to my old spot. 

We hardly talked. 

She sipped her coffee. 

I took a bite of my pastry. 

I looked at her. 

How did I offer the pastry–

a gesture with my eyes? 

Did we think about the baggage we carried, 

or about the weight of indiscretion? 

Did I make a move to get her another spoon, 

or did I not? 

She took the plastic spoon from my hand 

and had a small portion. 

I watched her lips and tongue 

take in the rich chocolate, 

the spoon in her mouth, 

the delicate suck on that. 

Back to me, 

then to her, 

we made the pastry last 

a dozen or more small turns. 

Someone there must have noted 

our few-moments-stand. 

They might say we thanked each other at the end. 

She did not. I did not. I did.

The message in parenthesis, 

the present isn’t bad at all, 

or the future, 

with hope in such a past.

from

https://justoneavatar.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-bakery.html