Breakfast on Union St

Your early rise
propels me into the day too soon.
Half awake, half asleep, resentful
as we step out into the morning’s silent frost.

Commuter breath steams the Victorian station.
We huddle beneath her great steel bird-cage roof
‘til I lose you for the day
among the smart suits and shiny shoes.

In a nearby café I take the early shift
scribbling on the couch by the window.
Dream warmth, and music seeps through
the grind of rattling beans.

Then, the waitress arrives
and a cocoa smile blooms
on the face of my foaming cappuccino.
I smile back.

Eileen Farrelly