Outside the cafe by the cracker factory
You were practicing a magic trick.
And my thoughts got rude
As you talked and chewed
On the last of your pick and mix.
You said «You’re mistaken
If you’re thinking
That I haven’t been called ‘cold’ before»
As you bit into your strawberry lace.
Then offered me your attention
In the form of a gobstopper
It’s all you had left
and it was going to waste.
Your pastimes consisted of the strange,
The twisted and deranged
And I loved that little game
You had called ‘Crying Lightning’
And how you liked to aggravate
The ice cream man on rainy afternoons.
The next time that I caught my own reflection
It was on its way to meet you,
Thinking of excuses to postpone.
You never looked like yourself from the side
But your profile could not hide
The fact you knew I was approaching your throne.
With folded arms you occupied the bench like toothache, Stood and puffed your chest out
Like you’d never lost a war.
Although I tried so not to suffer
The indignity of a reaction
There was no cracks to grasp
Or gaps to claw
And your pastimes consisted of the strange,
The twisted and deranged
And I hate that little game
You had called ‘Crying Lightning’
And how you liked to aggravate
The ice cream man on rainy afternoons.
Uninviting, but not half as impossible
As everyone assumes you are.