Sunday, August 20, 2006

The Coffee is Free

Marshy wet Wednesday March morning
At the hostel in Cedar Crest
Up in the New Mexico Mountains
On my spring break sabbatical 2000.

The ground is soft because the February snow
Melted two days ago when the
Renegade sun attacked the clouded landscape.

I laced my Adidas up and
Boiled the tap water in the
Tarnished pot and poured a cup
Of Folgers coffee and snatched up
My Newports before heading out to
The porch to gaze at the thick pine trees.

Terry is at work and that Patrick
Guy is off somewhere doing his Zen
Meditation and eating Herve’s Wheat tortillas with
Globs of Honey Bear honey.

I tried to strum the Gibson acoustic
But Fred the donkey shuffled his
Furry hide my way and started eating
The soggy cigarette butts out of the old coffee
Can –I cringed in disgust and the
Jackass licked my bare right arm and
Left a trail of crud, tobacco sediment, and saliva and gave me an
Affectionate donkey smile.

I threw on my wool coat and
Trounced down East 16th street to
Lunar coffeehouse where that guy Jack
I met, who owns it, plays free concerts
On Sunday evenings in the dusty corner
Illuminated by bars of moonlight.

The cellist is off at the community
Symphony and Sarah,
Is working the counter. She makes my
Cappuccino and croissant stuffed with
Prosciutto ham and sharp cheddar chunks.

I fingered through the news rack and
Grabbed Psychology Today and checked out
The new Feng Shui corporate solutions
For low productivity and yoga mantra
Relief for painful childhood memories.

The thick old purple armchair swallowed me
And time reminded me why I had come,
My eyes snuck out the
Window into the noontime horizon so
Vast like soft blue ivy climbing out forever on
A wall of the universe.

The sunbeams had particles of dust dancing a falling waltz –a man
In a gray suit came in for an espresso and
Sarah gave me a cup of leftover
Colombian coffee, “It’s free she said.”
Smiled and traipsed away.

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