Morning Cafe

The red leatherette like frozen waves in a sea of coffee'd air Cold, plump so early, there's Formica caught in its glare Filling slowly with private dreams while lunch time salad waits coffee, sweetened, creamed croissants slipped on plates If I owned a monochromatic camera I'd watch the procession of the phoney Some days it would make a difference some days it might feel lonely The door opens like a grave allows in the stabbing cold The young not bothered much, unlike the weak and old See one is talking the other waits to say something pertinacious One is waiting while the other talks ignoring a crash of dishes “Would you like a refill sir” No honesty not even there All the sugar in the world, won't change her blank dead stare In the corner an old man sits newspaper shakes in dark annoyance The headlines spoke of eastern dead while he fights arthritis