Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs
that don't quite match, widening tight circles
of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where
views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles
outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters
songs about happenstance. When a server drops
a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later.
Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops.
Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief,
my journal's at home. You say, All's fine.
but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf,
curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines.
Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage
self-determined verse while on the same page.