A little grey at the edge of the cream
White, wood grain, a contemporary
Shop for espresso and ironic gestures
Where the popular music chimes with
The sound of a machine battering
Steam through cow droppings and beans
Denying the reality of a world that couldn't
Care less about energy and caffeine as the passers
By look in with hope and dripping eyes, lashing
The inside with desire for the perfect minute,
Sixty seconds of pure exchange, unmediated
Knowing and capitulation to every dark want
Hidden under green purple blue, straight face
That only wants to break into a smile and forget
Every propriety, dissolve into a mass of me and you
And everything else, and here's hoping it happens
Just often enough to keep the fire lit and another
Log ready to furl the sidewalk step by step that leads
To wherever we might be going next
Roman Ryan 