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.
Copyright ©
Thomas Bruce
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