Morning coffee blues,
Cold cream in steaming darkness,
A pinch to wake me.
The barista’s weary smile,
All business, a pro,
Small talk is for the depraved,
Or those lonely fools,
Who mistake a smile for love,
And chase their coffee,
With pitiful fantasy.
A rhythm so smooth,
His exhausted nonchalance,
Just goes with the beat.
This one’s a to-go,
For this weary vinyl,
Is worn out enough.
Discarded Recollections 