Cafe of Sorrow

Sitting, smiling, still in the Cafe of Sorrows Mom, Dad and Child fine clothes, cradling on close knee, protective many in lively, livid discussion, laughing, embracing the moments that life brings. Out of chai, WTH? Never mind my fair Italian stud of a waiter I'll have green tea and an oatmeal cookie the steam rises from the lime-green moat embraced by brown cup and saucer protective old poet with notebook and glass of wine, the only two things he needs shrill music rises above our heads wrestling with the various chattering and the slamming of the espresso machine. The noise is its own orchestra in this protective cave of sorrow. The red stockings various names sewed in hang from the ceiling a holiday reminder to those who already didn't know the time of season The music, now Italian opera rises and so do our souls with it. The half eaten cookie is eaten tea is drunk, all wrestling in my organs, protective in that tunnel of sorrow get up and go, embrace the day, leaving the protective Cafe of Sorrow behind.