Alone in a strange city

the coffee shop is called Pound
the baristo calls me "young lady"
and thanks me for being so patient
as if it's a rarity
i drink red wine at a picnic table
with young people who don't know me
no baggage, only disinterest after
a reluctant smile in return.
no schedule, no relationship,
no work demands, nothing but
falling leaves onto Pennsylvania Ave,
my president still in office
safely tucked away with his family
only a mile away.
i feel happy.
nothing to do but peer over the
top of my reading glasses at the
couple kissing good-bye
outside the cafe window.