Just out from the toilet, her eyes waver
under thick lenses, watery, peering through
an undersea muddle of café afternoon.
She moves one way, then another, weaving,
before ever she reaches the cafe tables
and their twisted narrow glooming passageways.
I steer past her into the caverny room.
It is a chaos here. Everything floating
downwards into wet heaps. It smells of fish.
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