Coffeehouse

Coffeehouse


In that coffeehouse we sat

Trading stories of our times,

The brown-edged book between us,

The connection of our lives

And the reason she was sitting there.

Her Gibson girl fashion and

My East Coast black

Clashed like a cymbal

As did electric lamps clinical

And the gas lamps magical, that

Flickered in the night outside,

The divergence of the warm of night

And air-conditioned, sterile bright

Belied her demeanor, ever so slight,

As she startled at the noise from the grinder,

Saying: How long have you had this?

As she gained her composure.

I bought it for twenty.

A cause for foreclosure in my day.

She answered.

At that I replied,

I know, it's strange.

Our ways are so different,

The world has changed

But the human heart hasn't,

And it makes me sad

That we couldn't survive

In the world of the other

For ignorance and pride,

And yet I yearn for the feel of

Paper fine,

Worn rough in kind,

The musty smell of time,

The creak of the spine,

As I peel back the page

To find in old words

A new gist for this age.

And she said to me:

I would trade it blind

For air-conditioned comfort

And a slice of key lime.

(She got me there.)

And I countered, laughing:

Don't get me wrong,

The keyboard may sooth

With keystroke fast song

And hidden worlds anew

Never known in my youth

And push-button edit minus

Ink stain truth,

But please leave me this -

Some romance in my day,

And she said alright

As she faded away.

And now I sit alone

My book upon my knee

Best ransom ever paid

For my soul to be set free.


~Darkling Plain, Aug. 24, 2006