Laughter, sustained,
hangs stale in the
air about the
cushioned corner
booth like curtains
of left behind
cigarette smoke
from way back, when
time was different;
like some forgotten
acquaintance, seen
in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

A casual
wind carries leaves,
trash, newspapers,
and voices from
the past, brushing
aside this haze
while bringing specks
of an old earth,
time forgotten.

Time more likely
unknown to those
staring, swiping
litter and leaves
with casual shoes.

Desultory
movement, slowly
searching empty
skies, streets, Thursday
scenes and other
conversations
for anything
to happen next.