Outside Cafe On Sunset Boulevard
- a poem by Doug Dramie

Outside Cafe On Sunset Boulevard
Her eyes darted from mine
like she was jerking
her hand
away from a flame.
“Stop looking at me,” she snapped,
as she looked off
down the boulevard
with annoyance.
I had caught her in a lie, a minor
betrayal. It wasn’t
the first time I’d nailed her.
She couldn’t take my eyes,
she never could. I knew she’d get up
and take off running.
It was the same reaction every time. I’d
sit, sip my coffee, and wait for her to return,
she always did 15 or 20 minutes later,
gushing with sweet apology.
But this time I didn’t wait, just got up and walked home,
and I knew if I didn’t wait there at
our table where she had taken off,
that I would never see her again,
and I never did.

Doug Draime (1943-2015) emerged as a presence in the 'underground' literary movement in the late1960's in Los Angeles, California. A Senior Literary Editor for The Commonline Journal, Draime's books include: Knox County (Kendra Steiner Editions) and Los Angeles Terminal (Covert Press), Boulevards Of Oblivion (Tainted Coffee Press), Farrago Soup (Coatlism Press), and More Than The Alley (Interior Noise Press). Draime was awarded PEN grants in 1987 and 1992. Born in Vincennes, Indiana, Draime lived in the foothills of Oregon since the early 1980's until his death in 2015.