Ah The Coffee House
Of those that come, I know some come to hear
to hold old songs, “their” songs they keep so dear.
Some come for the coffee and catch a tune.
Some come to talk softly, to commune
With a friend or mate to share the hour:
Students: A dark haired woman and lover,
Sit in the corner the whole night in study
sharing books and paper with their coffee.
Then two come in to meet as if by chance
As do the two matched women blonde, blanch
Each with a carefully manicured face
That seems oddly out of place
So upscale in down scale, in old downtown.
To chance meet with him, a face a frown,
Who pays no heed to music, it seems he paced;
The whole evening, and he seems oddly placed.
Here, there is a graceful marble table,
As if this tale were a simple fable
And the room is waiting it’s intended function
the marble table is the center of attention;
It easily serves five young and their convention
They spread out, fill the space configured
With their talk and iced cappuccinos delivered
In a tall glass, whipped cream and cinnamon aspersed
Their bright eyes flashing, (sometimes whispered)
Conversation; quick kisses and looks that offered;
Who were asked by our bard to enter,
When early on we watched them gather,
In the front seemingly quite undecided
About spending the evening crowded;
A decision it seems good for the bar,
But not so good for the lyrical bard.
On the other side of the room are two
Who remind me of the old child’s rhyme
of Jack Sprat who could eat no fat
and he is playing chess with a friend
whose wife (may I be so bold)
after drinking a fair amount of wine
called out for the bard to sing a line
Or more than one actually of Fogelberg
Ones, that it has been too long since I have heard.
Those great tunes and wonderful lines
That remind of old Colorado times.
Tonight seats fill as fast as they empty,
The center shifts from marble to where three
Couples, whose attention, a neon advertisement
Focus on singer and song, gives encouragement
Song after song give the bard his due
And reward, which I believe he knew
From old: this ancient bard, a soul
That is again new but with an old goal:
(He sings songs, recounts his other days)
He plays to a new crowd in ancient ways.
He plays again and plys his trade
In his way his spirit is fully paid.
William Killen, 1/1/98 Melbourne, Fl