The Coffee Shop

There are days that take you back in time, While other days, hold tomorrow’s promise. The city of Orlando will be my world today, And I confess being, at my core, a city soul, At home among the vibrating hum of city life, And more alive in a tall concrete urban forest. The coffee shop near the museum chugs full tilt, And a soft mid-morning sun floods every corner. I let the slow pace and fast bustle sink together. I am surrounded by all vibrant young city faces, And I know that those faces do not look like me. I’m content with the coffee and all of their world. We “J” walk a busy street to the history museum, And inside is dark, but the exhibits are all light. I am able to peel centuries backward thru time, And in the bright exhibit lights, I see their faces, The faces who built a scaffolding for all we are, Conquered hollow faces, that do not look like me. Outside, the midday hustle mixes with everything, I want to tell the young faces to build a new world, And to create some promise for a fragile tomorrow. But they would just meet my gaze and not hear me, Like the blank faces staring back in the old museum, Faces that say, I am here; but I do not look like you.