She seeks a lover

She is discrete, of course
More than that, quite proper
She sits alone at the small table
Sipping her Chartreuse cocktail

Yellow Chartreuse
Mixed with gin and orange juice
Poured over ice
She disdains the orange spiral

How infrequent her lonely outings
Or not lonely -- alone
Without her children in tow
Without her distant husband

The broad sidewalk
Is filled with people
She watches a couple
Walking hand-in-hand

She is shielded by the cafe's
Small cabinets de verdure
And by her own
Garden of Gethsemane

What will she say
When the man asks
If he may join her
"I am just about to leave?"

Or will she gesture
To the empty chair
And with the hint of a smile
Say, “Ah, mais, oui.”

She ponders this
Sitting at her small table
Looking in her glass
Only the ice is left