Playground

Rain washes and pools across the tarmac
beyond the café windows that reflect everything
Staring into the sodium phosphor dark
lights and reflections indistinct against my own thoughts
Behind and outside a car moves, reflecting on the window
a mirage of itself - A ghost through which rain falls
and light shines as it rolls and disappears
the reflection unmade by angles and movement
The water slick, reflecting, blackness remains
constant in the wake of the ghost
I cannot help but think that this must be the playground
of the dead, their ghosts whispering
I look for someone, another ghost
among what is bound to become a crowd
and finding them to remain unseen
I turn, unsatisfied and mourning, back to the table
and the living