Overheard: Monday Morning

It is Sunday too early morning

I can only shuffle and wait

while they talk

At that age when 7:30 is mid-morning

necklaces click on the metal table

Women with coffee mug orphans abandoned and haphazard between them

though I never see them drink

Talk about visiting Ibiza

“Ibitha” correcting tone

and anniversary trips or return trips

“You really must visit Italy in every season”

“Italy’s fine, but France is a personal favorite”

Hums/sighs of assent

I try to banish the twin fangs of envy and judgment

Now debating the genetic provenance of the Basques

“What are they mixed with?”

“They live in the mountains, up in the mountains”

“You can tell the difference - their skin is darker”

“Weren't you sleeping with one of them?”

“Yes, but one of the local girls asked if she could date him and I didn't care because he wasn’t really anybody to me”

He wasn’t really anybody to me.

I concern myself with the shades of brown in my espresso

the crema shored along the lip

And I think that I am very lucky

I can leave

as the debate continues

The Basque are Spanish and French

Sometimes a fictional novel

will give you more knowledge of the world, more information

than a gap-year tryst with a “local boy”

I guess