Half Past Noon

 She sat in the back of the café.

Ear pods on and listening to a playlist of music.

Dark jet black hair just about elbow length;

Staring at the picture, the photograph;

Hanging on the wall from the early 1920’s;

It struck her in where she saw him.

Recalling the tie pin that glimmered in the sunlight.

Silver; his pocket watch and full rimmed glasses.

The saloon where Betty came to sing every Friday.

Big dreams of being famous as they are;

Young and full of innocence.

White steam shouted from the expresso machine

As the timer started beeping indicating

Breakfast was ready at half past noon.

Published by Ms. Selective

Traveling Gypse with a Heartfelt Spirit.

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