Meeting Frank In A Cafe
Seated in a Brooklyn cafe
At a table cloaked in checks of red and white squares.
Where tall, silent waiters wearing ties stood by waiting to catch our orders.
And pictures of Frank Sinatra splashed black and white memories
across the walls.
Each frame, trapped a moment.
Each image, a slice of a larger life.
We ordered pizzas.
-Mozzarella and a sprinkle of basil,
As Frank hung about watching everyone eat, talk
-and drink Chianti.
All the while memories trickled down the wall
Hearts ached a little
-But that's life
As Frank used to say.