Poetry: Coffee Wench

I awoke in the dawning of the world of men
crossed the tides of black asphalt
staving off the foul beasts of early morning
with persuasive tones from an ancient guitar


Peering out from steel and plastic
I scoured the streets of salvation
for a single stalwart port
serving sweet hot thoughts
and pastries for breakfast


Presented with the flying flags of a thousand ports
I let the stars take me down a side street
to the wooden decks of unfamiliar commerce
and wafting smells of coffee and bagels


The wash of sunlight drifting past the windows
covered the floor with dreamtime
and the ragged edges of the bedsheets


My eyes raised to the bustling row of goods
passing over clerks hawking awareness
and busy breakfast paninis
to the absence of the of coffee wench


Can a day truly be begun
without coffee and a scowl?
how can any day be complete
without mean looks and apathy?


She was not there
like a hole in the world that says whisky and books
begging to be filled with the sleepy eyed damning of my ways
and hot coffee with cold sarcasm


I left feeling hollow and unhated
pointed my bow towards the sinking west
traversed the sea of commuters
towards the endless day