The Harbour
As we sit down at our rickety table we sense an unwelcome tension. For whilst she stares agog he gives her the ol’ silent cowboy frown from opposite. Table six is where they both brood. True, it is an even number, steady and stable, but also easily divisible and she knows this. And he may want it. We are also an even; number eight to be precise under a two o’clock sun and adjacent to they. The light is so lucid, the air crisp, our lungs feel like they are ready to be played. Except, these two are in the most definitive of misty moods.
They awkwardly attempt a discussion whilst surrounded by occupied tables. Alas, it is mostly curtailed to monosyllabic exchanges wedged between noticable walls of silence. Eventually, posture takes a subconscious precedent. She looks away for long periods; annoyed, upset, which contrasts with the water’s serenity. The argument ultimately continues in a withdrawn quiet, which is indeed far worse as they now both hurl sharp muted insults at one another from inside their own minds. Shadow boxing for lovers.
He mutters like the creak from a mast, she turns her head in exasperation; “Yes, it would help me!” we hear her crack. Then another wave of silence slaps against the port walls. Her hands are clasped together upon her lap. His table elbows guard his tender mood. She is prim in her pique, but the fragility is palpable. He is bitter as he may have to compromise. She is bruising as their togetherness is in distress. Lost in a sudden stormy sea she needs him to be her beacon but he refuses to shine. She has criticised and he will not forgive, let alone listen. Stiff and stubborn, when he should be her sail. Would he rather destroy what they have to save his own pride?
She leaves the table with handbag. She is sometime. From the confines of a water closet she is ruminating, considering her options from this current descent. Him, the glacier, frozen still, but not in strength, but in fear- often a mutual friend of pride. She is the white gull flapping in flustered circles, looking for safe ground, but he would rather lick his wounds than save her fall.