The Tornado in the Coffee Shop

Early morning in the coffee shop.
Low hum from the cooler, a few words from barista to customer.
The rustle of a newspaper. The slurp of a sip.
Easy. Relaxed. Heads down. Isolated.

Then a woman enters – a late-30s, early-40s professional
woman, a mom, big purse, cell phone, flying through on
her way to work, to show a house, to sign a deal.

She talks, non-stop, from the moment she enters,
through ordering, paying, getting change,
picking up her drink – oh, and did you get my
bean card updated? That’s right, “Morning Blend” –
one bag – do you need anything else? – through
engaging the person next to her while she
adds cream.

Then she’s off again, flying to the door and through,
+++her car roars and she’s gone.

And we look at each other for a moment, and look at the door,

Then go back to our papers and coffee
+++and the low hum is heard again.

One Response to The Tornado in the Coffee Shop

  1. Pingback: New Poem Posted (Finally!)brucewriter.com

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