Cold Coffee - Poem by Oskar Hansen
On the black cafe table a packet of sugar it was red and
advertised a coffee brand, besides it a tiny silver wrapped
caramel. The server had removed the coffee cup and
the small bottle of water, perhaps she thought I wanted to
take the offering home. The table looked like wood, but
when I touched it was lifeless and cold; another fake thing.
I like wood when you touch a table or chair made of timber it
comes alive. From a forest to the carpenter and when it rots
it goes back to earth again. Plastic is born dead and will exist
in all eternity and that is sad for everyone.
This happened when I sat in a cafe waiting for my wife to
conduct business, I wasn’t thinking of lumber, but the way
I have an instinctive dislike of people look cold as plastic
and shaped beautifully like Formica kitchen table.
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