Joseph Warren Beach

From “Dry Points”

YOU that but seek your modest rolls and coffee,

When you have passed the bar, and have saluted

Its watchful madam, then pray enter softly

The inner chamber, even as one who treads

The haunts of mating birds, and watch discreetly

Over your paper’s edge. There in the corner,

Obscure, ensconced behind the uncovered table,

A man and woman keep their silent tryst.

Outside the morning floods the pavement sweetly;

Yonder aloft a maid throws back the shutters;

The hucksters utter modulated cries

As wistful as some old pathetic ballad.

Within the brooding lovers, unaware,

Sit quiet hand in hand, or in low whispers

Communicate a more articulate love.

Sometimes she plays with strings and, gently leaning

Against his shoulder, shows him childish tricks.

She has not touched the glass of milk before her,

Her breakfast and the price of their admittance.

She has a look devoted and confiding

And might be pretty were not life so hard.

But he, gaunt as his rusty bicycle

That stands against the table, and with features

So drawn and stark, has only futile strength.

The love they cherish in this stolen meeting

Through all the day that follows makes her sweeter,

And him perhaps it only leaves more bitter.

But you that have not love at all, old men

That warm your fingers by this fire, discreetly

Play out your morning game of dominoes.