The Meeting

Little black notebook

With a phone placed on top

Two menus fanned out to block the view in

Or stop the conversation getting out

I can’t see what she’s eating

But it smells like fish and chips

He has chicken and chips...

They both sip their hot drinks

In white mugs

He clasps his hands and leans in intently

Nodding at her remarks

But is he a therapist or her son?

He wears a smart grey blazer and brown brogues

She has a plastic JD Sports bag and

Nike beaten-down trainers

That’s enough said really...