Baked Bread and Coffee

Continual marching – the concrete stench of rain

spoils baked bread and coffee seeping streetwards;

I tell myself in vain: “Be calm.”

And she’s smiling, framed
by the multicoloured panels of an awning,

dressed as I expected: casual, baggy,

unassuming, drawing on a roll-up freshly rolled.

Approaching, I tense to metal.

Labouring to walk and breathe,

no power for the garnish of a smile,

I hear a “Hi!” and awkwardly I freeze

mid-step – no spit, no wit:

all adult in an adolescent style.