At least something is happening.
He can write about Margo’s tears, and her broken heart…
It’s those slow mornings when he’s the only customer, that make the Thursday night poetry slam so tedious.
“The scent of scorched coffee… too long on the burner, unpoured…
Stacked white ceramic cups, sitting empty, like my soul.
The occasional swish of the white towel, on the already clean counter…
Momentarily filling the silence..
Just like yesterday."
At least something is happening.
He can write about Margo’s tears, and her broken heart…
It’s those slow mornings when he’s the only customer, that make the Thursday night poetry slam so tedious.
“The scent of scorched coffee… too long on the burner, unpoured…
Stacked white ceramic cups, sitting empty, like my soul.
The occasional swish of the white towel, on the already clean counter…
Momentarily filling the silence..
Just like yesterday."