coffeeshop

thursday at midnight:

We lounge languidly on chairs in this coffee shop;
sipping tea and laughter
We are content as we speak in foreign tongues.
The conversation drifts as we talk;
of bicycles, chocolate-chip cookies, hair ribbons,
the smell of new plastic, and trees.
We are not passionate or indifferent in this coffee shop.

We sit, surrounded by angst filled children
and laugh at their petty anger in this coffee shop.
We are no older than they, but twice as wise.
We know the magic that lies in cigarettes.
We know the sadness in a empty cup of tea.
We know the root of their pretensions
because we too used to dance in the fields and hope people were watching.
Now we do it, merely because we can.

You unfold yourself from your chair to seek out another cup of tea.
Returning with two cups, in all their tender glory.
The delicacy of our tea cups is soft
against the insolence of their coffee mugs.

We smile as they play at their childish games in this coffee shop,
because we too used to gorge ourselves on cups of black acid bitterness.
We used to hang our heads and complain in this coffee shop.
Now, we giggle as the clock eats away our hours in this coffee shop.
We are pretty and clever in this coffee shop.
We are naive and smiling in this coffee shop.

Tonight we are all alone,
and the coffee is hot. . .