Sweet Black Lunch

I had a lover.
He would take me to The Mixing Pot.
All the waiters used to look.
He was a bit of a personality.
I went back today, by chance, for lunch.
I sat alone in the courtyard.
Raw beef, ink pasta, black olives.
One glass of champagne.
The waiter looked.
And filled up the water glass.
I had black coffee.
No sweets?
The waiter bought biscuits for my son, and wrapped them at the table.
Nobody knew my lover.
We shook hands.
After lunch I visited my friend.
I was afraid to ask her about him.
I did ask.
She said he was playing chess with her partner. As we spoke.
And that he was married.
It was sweet.