Coffee House Poet

(Written at the Coffee House)

Here is where I meet my friends,

have long conversations; glances,

can’t remember all their names—

(all the time) my coffee cup often jumps,

when they come by, breaking up the

moment of my concentration….

Women want to borrow chairs—often

around my table; I’m a regular here—;

everyday until-night, from three to almost

midnight… writing, reading, drawing,

it’s what I do, I’m a poet.

Three’s the professor, from the U of M;

and Johannes, a poet and friend; and

then, there is Papa Bear, he works at

the Airlines, worried, ‘Northwest,’ is

going out of business

And then there is Gene, he likes erotica;

and Kathy, she’s a Faulkner fan; and

Royce, a lawyer, he has no real choice;

and Mathew, he’s a writer of songs, and

music

And then there is Janet, she’s loves the

word of God; and Michelle, she likes the

law also; and there’s Cindy W., a poet

who loves ‘Plath,’ and Gary and Sue, book

lovers too, and me, a plain poet.

I have learned much from all my friends,

at the Coffee House, at the B & N, in

Roseville—and that we all love to inhale

the odor of Coffee, books and conversation;

I think fate has brought us here; Amen!