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The following poem was composed while waiting for service at a local family restaurant. The ownership of the restaurant has since changed twice and thousands of customers and countless staff workers have come and gone. Even the brand of coffee that they serve is no longer the same. The poem, however, was only transferred from one floppy disk to another and has undergone few modifications.

Coffee Melts

        The coffee melts
        the rubber pots
        while someone says,
        "It's not so hot."

        Conversation lingers
        for a moment drab
        til someone says,
        "It's not too bad."

        The little bits
        of satisfaction
        come rising from
        the wake of action,

        A dismal dream
        is sorted out
        to make some room
        for pleasant shouts,

        The coffee sticks
        to rubber cups
        while empty dishes
        suggest new wishes.


Glen D. Wheeler, January, 2000




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