The Coffee ShopA Poem by The Hampstead Poet
Steamy air and porcelain ivory mugs lined stout and uniform
Dark teak panels line this hub like marble slabs upon a temple For within these low tables, high top Formica bar My fellows youth find their sought commune Far in the corner sits a bearded man a hipster? Order: espresso, two shots Sniffling silently over a mixtape from his ex, staring into the coffee as if it held the answers And at the window table, gathered close in conspiracy Pre-teens in gauzy pink and beaded leather heels (I find I disapprove!) Quoting "Mean Girls" with a vaguely disturbing reverence Their half-hearted imitation of tomorrow's queens is short-lived and yet I still shiver staring at the unwelcome mirror of my youth An elderly couple, hand in hand, shouting their order to the nice young man with syrup staining his well-intentioned green apron sweating behind the counter amid the heat And shouting "Black, two sugars!" to no one in particular Quite bewildered; as if he's woken up to slightly less pleasant surroundings than his bed Finally, the first date couple, tension thick between them The blonde smiling nervously; does he notice her twirling her hair? He in turn swings his feet nervously from atop the table stool but his eyes are genuine, and he can't believe his luck Only I see the hesitant hand outstretched beneath the table and I smile For it seems I've found the answer to this Mecca The coffee shop they've come to seek truth from And I sit too, nursing a pumpkin spice somewhat ironically Enjoying the feel of my pen over paper, writing down these answers They've come to find and yet don't seem to notice
© 2015 The Hampstead PoetReviews
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2 Reviews Added on October 11, 2015 Last Updated on October 11, 2015 |