Through the Cafe Window

 
Once I’m seated with my black coffee
I gaze out of the window
Watching the people strolling
Or hurrying by
Wondering to where they will go.
And I look up to clouds covering the sky
 
There’s the man paid by the council
To pick up litter
And the old man with the wooden walking stick
There’s the scruffy man who hangs about
I wonder what each of them thinks.
 
Is the scruffy man homeless?
I am not sure
Is the man with the stick unwell?
If I could sit down with any one of them
I wonder what stories they could tell.
 
The old could talk of the war
And what it meant to them
Those younger could speak of parenthood
The poor could talk of how they survive
In small houses in the neighbourhood.
 
I’m sipping coffee as I’m thinking this
The caffeine is starting to kick in.
A young lady with a pushchair
Passes the window
And an elderly couple walk in.
 
The postman walks past with his bag of letters
As does an older woman pulling a trolley;
A middle aged man
With a boy and a girl;
The girl is sucking on a lolly.
 
Each with their own life and problems
Going about their day
What they do I can only imagine
The caffeine has made me focussed now
And I wonder of their kith and their kin.
 
Some are poor, some are rich;
There’s the old and the young,
Working, retired or learning
Each and everyone their own character
Out; about, then to home returning.
 
I finish my coffee
And get to my feet
And put my denim jacket on.
I pay for the drink and exit the café
And join the hurrying throng.