In A Cafe With Meager Crowd Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

They often sit in a café
Whose meager crowd is its lure
While the tea brews
and cream perfects its assault
on the blackness of the coffee,
Their talk spirals from the pit of the mundane
to the limits of the profound
like morning glory leaping out a high fence
from the wet mound of earth

They swap stories about small victories
And large victories
About injustice which is never big or small
Because size is not a benchmark of evil
Which is the only benchmark of itself
They snatch moments of silence among them
That, as though soap bubbles, readily burst
into congruent opinions.

Their collective spirit hangs over them
and shrivels at their depression
over their helplessness
They do so much. Nothing is done.
As if they are pouring water
into permeable barrel
Injustice always cracks victory
What is peace in the cool valleys
When the hills are trembling in fear?

Supplicant for vigor, their spirit nags them
To let laughter soak up the tears that weigh it down
One, somehow, catches the plea
He starts sculling the dialectics
Till they syncopate
Into chats about the weather
Not only. Even the latest scandals
Involving the movie and political stars.
The inane giggles buoy up their sagging spirit

At the close of night,
they move to different directions
Looking forward to the next date
in a café with meager crowd.