The waiter approaches
and he asks me what I'm going to drink.
I ask for a short coffee.
At the next table
there is an individual sitting
what does it look like
Just arrived from another planet.
I look around
but I do not see
no parked spaceships.
He is reading
a book,
whose title
it's written
in a language I don't know.
Finally, I continue with mine.
I slowly savor the coffee,
while taking a look
to Facebook.
there is hardly any coverage
on that terrace,
mobile is slow
and this always irritates me.
the guy next door
ask for the bill
and immediately afterwards he leaves;
he advances without haste
towards the old quarter.
I light a cigarette
and I remain thoughtful.
It is the tranquility
most pleasant of all
cigarette between fingers, coffee
and a clock without hands:
I have before me
the ship of an unhurried time,
docked in a port
of static waters,
of petrified shipwrecks,
of shadows and lips
that kiss the air,
constantly and sensually.
I absorb the last drop of coffee,
and with it, the last puff
smoke comes out of my mouth
towards that nothing full
of extinct suns
I leave the bar
and like that individual
alien looking,
I lead my own escape
into the narrow streets
of the old town,
there where life
walk slow and furtive,
as if it were a ghost.