2024, incomplete memoir, Ohio River Valley Literature, prose, Working Class Literature

I used to haunt coffee shops

I used to haunt coffee shops. When that was a thing. One of those spirits armed with a book, a notebook, a pen.  I’d hardly speak to anyone besides the barista.  I favored places that still served bottomless cups of coffee; it was the closest I could come to the greasy spoon joints I’d find at two in the morning, sometimes still drunk.  Coffee cost a dollar, though at some point some old codger would be there bemoaning used to be a nickle. That was before ‘Fair Trade’ was meant to make us feel better about the blood cost of coffee.

I used to haunt coffee shops, though my second ex-wife would call me rude for being anti-social in a social space. Like I broke the contract I never signed.  Though I would step outside to smoke a sometimes bummed cigarette, which I believed counted for something.

There are fewer tables and chairs for ghosts now. Now all the aimless spirits wander digital landscapes with earbuds blocking out the hum of other people’s lives. The coffee is To Go whether I want to go or not. We wander unmoored for the lack of coffee shops and hardly anyone has a cigarette to give anymore.

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2023, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

there aren’t enough late night coffeeshop nights

the coffee
the company
are good – there just
haven’t been enough late nights
not nearly
to feel normal

I almost forget
I’m turning into an old man
sitting across from you
watching the rudeness
of other customers,
the manager who
saintlike
leaves the coffee pot

me making you laugh
at stories of days, of hours
when the world insists
we must be apart
from each other
working

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2023, Ghazal, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, Poetry Month 2023, Working Class Literature

Ghazal no. 1


High winds and rain haven’t erased us yet.
The coffee is hot and good.

This old house sings with the wind like my old man hip
but I am grateful for coffee that is hot and good.

My old dog Barleycorn hates the high winds and finds no comfort
panting like it is too hot and there is nothing good.

I never saw myself being this person, worrying about a roof
but more some ignored bit of rock on the road, hot and good

so it feels ungrateful (I know) to scream I am weary and my hip hurts
while I am blessed with you and coffee that is hot and good.

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