Want Decisions to Count, Right?

The declarative playwright
Sips his tea at the cafe
Of the street of real people.
There has got to be a right
To scrutinize looking-glass
Egos until they marble
Under the gaze. I'm alright.

Intense afternoon daylight
Bleaches even the shadows
Under the cafe awning
Where people in shades make light
Of their own seriousness.
Could they believe what they love?
Sorrows leach out of delights

Until everything shines white
Around his cup of green tea
At his black table, his ink
Fading from his not-quite sight
Even as day bends his night.
His pulse tightens. He's frightened.
"I'm alright," writes the playwright.