A medium Mocha Please

A medium mocha please


I sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair in a café a quarter way full
Some people sheltering from the cold
Others hiding from life
I open my book and start to read another poets work
Amused by his observations
Finding companionship in his opinions
And solace in a few of the familiar situations
Turning pages of the book with one hand while holding my coffee
With the other, alternating each hands function
At the same time people tickle keyboards with their fingers
Their minds inside of the machines
While mine enters dark bars, dusty motel rooms, has sex
And murders deserving assholes vicariously
An old man scared by life is seated across the room from me
He growls now and again like a dog
Snaps at those walking by on the other side of the window
Keys are pressed constantly; all focus is on the screens
No energy in the room
My mind goes back into its self as I sit here writing about the safe haven café,
The dogman, the first form of cyborgs in a transient apartment with an
Unwelcome atmosphere
I want to go back to the café…and hide.