Elvis wails on the stereo.
There are crackles in the music,
like an old record, scratched and worn as memories.
Coffee brews, thick and dark.
You can smell it across the room,
the aroma of wakefulness and hope.
The place is packed this morning,
everyone on their way to somewhere,
work, promises, lovers.
Everyone is on their way to somewhere. You sit,
tapping on a keyboard, random words,
a sorting out of too much time
surrounded by too many people,
your soul drained, in need of empty horizons,
empty beaches, long roads, space
enough you can empty yourself.
It will come, that space.
Until then, there is work to be done,
souls needing saving, not the least of all, yours,
help grasped in the moments, crumbs of silence
just enough you don’t starve,
manna, playing hide and seek.
About the poem
My friend, Dr. Jim Brown introduced me to the diner in the picture.
I am an introvert. It’s been a busy week. It’s going to be a busy three weeks. Then I need to escape for a day or few. The operative word here is need.