In A Bookshop Cafe

They are breaking up in a bookshop cafe,
or they are talking about breaking up
or they have broken up and met again
to talk about it.
I know because I've done it
her eyes are rivets, she is staring so hard
and the book I'm trying to read says
Metaphors Are Lies - she is fixing him
on the sharps of her eyes - I want to say to her
don't talk to him. Don't talk. Don't score yourself
like this, don't bleed, don't let him see.
Between them and me a grandma holds a baby up
in two hands like it is a big pint pot
and she's about to drink. She kisses the baby
noisily, again, again - Mwah!
like a cartoon kiss - Mwah! Mwah!
And I want you. You are inside
and not a second goes without it holds you
and not a thought without you in.
We have sat like that, taut, attentive
one each side of a table somewhere.
If I could stop her, yes - I would.
Would walk the length of the bookshop
past the grandma with the baby
I would take her hands, say "Come with me.
They aren't worth this"