Beehive Cafe

We sat

across a table

dappled with butter sun

Sipping black coffee

dustgazing

smoke snaking

reading the newspaper

Here take this

you proffered

a book of matches

Stood

hitched jeans on hips

took your leave

People don’t still do that

I thought

But sure enough

a number scrawled inside

And I was left

to decide

Flash 55 for Real Toads!