The street is empty, the theatre crowd has gone
It must be past eleven! He’ll be here before long
She sits alone while distant midnight chimes
The streetlights dim. She’ll catch the waiter’s eye
Another coffee, please. Yes, one, just one

The street outside is dark. The only light
Is from that corner café, where she sits
Shadows in shop doorways, hiding what?
Nothing. No-one. Like some old Film Noir
Inside, a red-haired woman in a dress of red
Leans on the bar towards the hatted man
A second, trilby-ed man sits all alone
Hunched over, like our unseen, waiting girl

Only the waiter turns to look at her
Waiter? How many waiters? One, two, three
The hunched man, the one who hands out coffee
And she, who, waits alone, unseen
The white-coated waiter sets down her cup
She stirs it and puts down the spoon, she plays for time
Might he still come? Apologise?
Of course not. He will not, No!
In that case, she must go!
Even the waiter will be gone at six
Rain is now splashing the window panes
She downs the coffee, stands and leaves
Yet even now,
Reluctantly.