Trumpeter plays to open air
to ocean and gulls
scruffy sparrows snuggle in dirt baths
this blustery day in June.
Walking on to an empty bistro,
early evening or late afternoon
we straggle in one by one,
solitary diners with written words
for company- a weekly, a novel, and mine.
Jazz in our ears, in the air, in the wind.
Loneliness echoing in the room, bouncing off
the sound of no one speaking
in empty conversation.  Only the early bird
special repeatedly offered, accepted.
White wine please, yes. Thank you.
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