The Café Filtre

Slowly and with persistence he eats away at the big steak, gobbles up the asparagus, its butter & salt & root taste, drinks at a glass of red wine, and carefully taking his time, mops up the gravy with bread— The top of the café filtre is copper, passively shines back, & between mouthfuls of steak, sips of wine, he remembers at intervals to with the flat of his hand the top removed, bang at the apparatus, create the suction that the water will fall through more quickly Across the tiles of the floor, the cat comes to the table  :  again. “I’ve already given you one piece of steak, what do you want from me now? Love?” He strokes her head, her rounded black pregnant head, her greedy front paws slip from his knee, the pearl of great price ignored  .  She’s bored, he bangs the filtre again, its top is copper passively shines back  . Food & wine nearly finished. He lifts the whole apparatus off the cup  .  Merciful God, will it never be done?                      Too cold already to add cream and sugar, he offers the last piece of steak with his fingers  . She accepts it with calm dignity, even delicacy  .  The coffee goes down at a gulp, it is black & lukewarm  .