Version 0.42 (Kafeville Poem)

02-24-19

Coffee—nearly at last
A mustard-yellow wall
Spirals of razorwire atop it
In places it has crumbled away
With age, with the damp, with forgetfulness and neglect
It is like an old love, the glow of the setting sun on it all that is giving it warmth,
Illuminating it before it sinks into darkness
Coffee arrives and smells of strawberries and passion fruit.
It is a red and orange and purple and blue carpet spread beneath my nose
A garland of fruits and flowers hung about my neck
The air is still, silent
Ocassionally it quivers with the voice of an employee or guest, like a single plucked string of a guitar

[Enters loudly: steam from the espresso machine wand]

And suddenly a thought comes to me: why aren’t I meditating while I am here?

As I think about this cafe space as an isolated sphere of peace and serenity a child’s voice bursts in from a room in the rear
Bright and happy like a jelly bean, she skips through back to front and out the door, like a stone across a lake, leaving the surface calm and still after
The world undisturbed
As it was when I first arrived.

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