This is not a fancy Café.
You will not get a pretty latte.
At the city corner.
Dirt black coffee
from a French press
goes straight to the brain.
Making hands twitch.
Pretty silver stars sway in the heat. They are shiny paper cut outs glittering from vents in the ceiling. A warm blanket blows over the customers sheltering them in a transparent veil from the cold. A bum sleeps at the corner table. He is startled by the host.
“No sleeping!” Tattoos on his neck, black design. “Buy a cup of coffee or get out!”
It is the coldest day of the year.
As if in water the little stars dangle from their thin imaginary strings weaving back and forth swimming.
Music, loud, and with drums.
Flashing red lights speed past the bay window.
A fire truck screams through the intersection.
A match burns out.
My cup is empty.
Should I go or
get a refill?
It’s a long bitter night.
A sliver crescent moon looms bright.
I walk up to the counter and stretch a little. My fingerless gloves wrap around the cup. "Refill." I shout over the music to the guy at the counter. “Save room for cream.” He doesn't look up. Grabs the cup, without rinsing the thick dark soot at the bottom and fills it up from a French press.
"Fifty cents."
I dig in my pocket, loose change, and hand him two quarters. He passes the coffee across the counter. Liquid spills over the edge. It's a dark universe.
"Dammit, I said leave some fucking room for cream. This shit is too thick to drink straight."
"Ooops."
I go back to my corner table.
This place is open till 4am.
I didn't need to sleep tonight anyways.
Very rich in imagery... I like your style. I felt like I was sitting in that Cafe. Hope you have a wonderful night.
Hey thanks! Working on creating atmosphere and mood. Have a great one.
I can honestly say that you were very successful with this poem! Thank you so much for sharing it with us.