Love-Sick

He slouches,
Pen Limp,
Hunched over a notebook
Guarding it from prying eyes.
Yet, there aren’t many eyes 
interested in a young man writing
In a coffee shop off the beaten path

He fiddles with his phone
opening and closing it
Looking at it, 
his eyes glassy in the reflection.

His phone buzzes, 
and the tears begin to fall
He hasn’t moved
25 minutes.
Forty
Sixty
Ninety

His frappe melted
leaving a ring on the 29.99
Ikea table. 
The bell rings
His first movement, as
he looks to see who’s intruding

There’s no recognition 
He turns his head back
He slouches