I
Sitting in the café sipping
his coffee paper in front of him he watched people stroll
in, thinking to himself.
Those people incoming would catch his eye before he returned to
his place. He wondered to himself.
Staring through the dark tinted window a barren dry land of men
on the roads and in cars, he acknowledged.
People paid no attention passing him all day buying their coffees
and snacks while he sat, hoping to himself.
His cup slackened from wear of the hot liquid cooling, swirling
light separated concoctions, as he mused to himself.
A bee buzzing at the window from inside sitting then settling
relentless, tired but much to do. He feared.
II
Stopping
in the café for coffee and a snack, aware of the dark figure in
the seat closest to the window, she pitied.
Door wafts shut a man steps in line for coffee drops a dollar on
the table for the gray-hair man, whispering to himself.
Worker from outside waves to the gray-hair man, each morning same
response, he smiles and whistles to himself.
III
Alone
he sits in awe and wonder, the people he sees, the weather winds
that blow the leaves.
Man is unchanging, relentless, ever pursuing fruits for life
oblivious to lesser intricacies of a formidable world.
Copyright ©2002 Kurt Thomas Echols
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