Diner Coffee
she never had her tea leaves read
instead
the tepid shallow puddle of a refill
(diner coffee)
foretold
overpowering youth’s refusal to believe
in getting old.
never in the a.m.
gulp and run
multi-tasking to do
a day to fill with brisk meaning
and content
places to go people to see.
no time to lament.
no, much later in the day.
beckoning
under skyscraper canopy
(Galaxy, Red Flame, Tom’s)
mauve formica
clueless to retro-chic.
spanikopita.
counter shared with older women
facing coffee cups
she bears witness to their invisibility
“one day”
she thinks
“that will be me.”
and an eye blinks.
copyright 2011 sharon watts
excerpted from Back To My Senses
for more writing about sensory memories and things that matter, visit Anita Rose Merando‘s The Coffee Stories
Just read, and felt the wave of recognition from inside out. Not sadly, but gladly, readier to face the work of the day in company as it were. Salute!
I love your attitude!
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