Coffee House Poet (a poem)

(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!

Dedicated to my friends at the Coffee House; #1257 3/2/06 revised 2/5/06