Condensation on the windows

They don’t sell second chances at the last gasp cafe
only coffee and stale croissants with sugar in a sachet
and you pay,
how you pay every day that you go
because there is no place that feels
quite like home
than the last gasp cafe when you’re all
on your own

And the jukebox plays the top ten from
before you were born, there’s
oilcloth on the tables, stained and badly worn,

Marvin who’s been there since before there was even there swears it gets quite crowded, but when I go there’s no one there,

it’s Mandy’s life, she’s Marvin’s wife of forty years and more
and not once in all that time has she ventured through the door that leads down to the sea,
I guess she’s scared
might be she’s heard
that
they don’t sell second chances at the last gasp cafe.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.