This poem was inspired by the 15 minutes I spent in one of our community’s most eclectic and inviting coffee shops — La Colombe — located around the corner from Rittenhouse Square Park, Philadelphia, PA.
Strokes in rust sweep the walls,
Splashed with cityscapes that welcome all.
Dark wooden floors complete the set.
Ahead, a man in black sits with another,
The other in shades, a flattering Nicholson brother.
Expressing in whispers and not in face,
They both sit with a little grace.
Bouncing glows play off matter.
A faint pulse coils the clatter.
Still, melodic laughter cloaks the latter.
Two tables down, a tousled crown in silver,
Screens a gaze darting from glimpse to phrase.
Her rims cushioned in nose-guard fashion,
Writing in spurts, she scripts the action.
Not to meet, we work in tandem.
And I wonder, does she unearth gold in the random?
Swirls of cinnamon, vanilla, and mocha too,
Dance in silence about the room.
I sip the mood alongside my tea,
As a man enters my periphery.
In blue scrubs and a bound black tress,
He must be the rebel of his dress.
Still, under it all he is wired to go,
So he buys his coffee and exits the show…