What They Meant by Busy

Someone in the other room said busy and then they said café, and then they stood there with the radio like it was a cup they weren't sure they wanted.

This morning, the man on the news said. Eight forty. Heading to work. Shops opening. Surrounded only by houses.

I almost asked who was talking when it happened. I almost made them: a woman saying wait, the coffee, a man already on the step, someone counting change and not looking up.

They would have sounded true for as long as it took to say them. They would have been mine.

What I hear instead is this kitchen catching on the word café the way a sleeve catches on a door, and the tap left running because someone said leave it, I want the sound.

The list is still on the table. Nobody in this room has said a name. The water keeps going as if a room somewhere has not finished its sentence.