Again, at home
Away, in a coffee house
Not my own
The sounds
Background noise
Coffee grinder
Someone's phone
Playing a video
Interrupting the noise
With a foreign sound
Tinny, alien
But in my language
Not understandable
As if in another
Tongue.
The cup, hot steaming
Sits waiting for my touch
Black, really deep brown
A little bitter
Biting the back of my mouth
And realizing the promise
That comes with its smell
now and again
The movement of
My fellow patrons
Ordering, carrying their
Prizes to their tables
Two men talk of their plans
Two women talk about their work
Refilling their mugs
And continuing
Caffeine fueled ambition
Coffee scented hope
In this chaos, ordered,
I am myself.
