People Pass

She’s in the cafe,
outside buses pass by.
Her coffee cup casts a shadow,
sunlight on the floor.

They’re playing a song
just like the last one;
sunlight across the door.
the hot sun begins.
I look at her hair.
Across the room she glances,
the waitress at the counter
she’s young
in her looks an unhappiness
through the window outside
people pass.