POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

POET IN A COFFEE SHOP, 5-16-17

I decided that I needed

To be a poet

In a coffee shop

This sunny morning

So off I went

To the Pour House

And got myself seated

On a hard and soul-worn bench

With the darkest of the dark roasts

In a red-striped mug

On the scarred table before me

Alas, without my pad for poems

Which watched forlornly

From across the street

In the back seat of my car

So I watched my coffee colleagues

The nerdy but pretty woman typing

At a small high table

The tall and pleasant young man

Behind the counter

Dispensing coffee and politeness

In equal measure

The lone wolves with their laptops

As far away from one another

As Scylla from Charybdis

Two middle aged faculty women

Discussing some arcane topic

Before the empty fireplace

The four bright grad students

Here only for the summer

Studying together for some project

Each just finished with the first

Year of teaching school

Now back for greater learning

how to teach English and arithmetic

While hoping for sex and beer

They all make me smile

I’m glad I forgot my poet pad

[No, I’m not writing again. I’m still fasting from being a professional Christian, trying to be a real Christian. But I start most days with a poem—unedited, just the way it comes off the top of my head--just because I want to, and because I need to write. You don’t need to read it, though, and I have told no one that I am posting in CIW again, so if you have stumbled in here by mistake, and think there will be something worthwhile to read, I apologize. JRMcF]