With Nothing.

He looked like he had come to enjoy
just a small pleasure,
the only true treasure of his day.
He could have ordered anything:
a delectable fruity scone,
a rich chocolate muffin,
a sweet toffee cookie.
Instead, he chose
a plain bagel, toasted, with nothing.
He took a spot in the corner,
grabbed a newspaper,
looked around as if asking permission.
No one protested
(no one noticed)
and so he sat with his back to the
wall, facing the entire cafe;
he bent over to take small bites
of his boring snack,
his special time.

He was the kind of man that
flipped his tie over his shoulder to eat,
if you know what I mean.