I hurried into a noisy coffee house

In a small brick building, hidden by an old elm tree.

Walking quickly up to the counter, in the fragrant room,

I placed my order. The faded linoleum floor was etched

With black streaks, made by metal chair legs,

As customers moved closer to each other,

Scraping back and forth Through the years.

At a small table in the corner,

A red-headed man, with abdomen sagging over

A dull metal belt buckle, held on tightly to his cup.

He stared straight ahead.

Sitting next to him, sat a thin woman,

Her wrinkled skin sprinkled with freckles,

She waved her hands in the air as she talked.

"It’s not like the old days,"

Said the stocky man with a beard.

Shaking his head, he looked at his watch

And then out the smeary window. 

"Good parking spots are hard to come by.

Those thirty minute zones

Leave you no time."

Slow wisps of steamy coffee drifted into the air.

I snapped a plastic lid over my cup

And dashed out the door.

Kathleen Arnold Chambers

January 1, 2005