In The Chinwag Poem by Adrian Flett

In The Chinwag

Rating: 5.0

As I sip coffee, read the news
eat muffins, take in the views
a couple floats by
his arm goes down to her thigh.
Her jumper stretches and bulges
in all the usual places.
Listen to Chinwag chat
mostly about this and that

Through multi-muted murmurs
of old folks' rumours,
spread by wags of chins
talking of people's multi-sins,
while sipping frothy cappuccinos
and expounding on life's scenarios.
Chins wag and lips utter
as people sit and mutter

Unsteady feet just able
to fetch a sachet from nearby table,
an old man sweetens his cup.
In the opposite chair his hat sits up
watches every move he makes
as he enjoys coffee and cakes.
Will time ever drag
here in the Chinwag?

Above the coffee machine's roar
things busy up, voices soar.
Parents sip coffee from mugs
while their boy nosily sucks
at a straw stuck deep in a glass.
All three enjoy their repast.
The menu's up on the far wall
Pancakes, toasted muffins it's your call.

As she goes to pay
Her handbag's in the way
Her face shows the passage of time,
creased by two or three lines.
Eyes squint, focus and probe
fingers stab at the pin code.
Cushions In the Chinwag's hum
soften seats for plump and bony bums.

Steam rises from cups, it curls
with chat and giggle of three girls.
Their voices a clarion call
of exuberance above it all.
Around the girls are muted moans
from old folk's limps and groans.

Monday, November 2, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: fun,lifestyle
Rupert Hentzau 30 October 2017

Adrian, you have a lot of talent. But you should have told us something about yourself. I guess you are from South Africa. Pietermaritzburg might be one of the places you've stayed. You have a gift of observation. And you are meticulous with your words. And I see the rhymes here and there. There is a great deal of talent. But I am worried. Poemhunter is not the place for you. May be 10 years ago, it would have been fine. But not today. The whole site has been invaded by poetasters, frauds who know nothing about good poetry, flatterers, fawners, and you won't find a good poem even among a hundred. Don't seek for plaudits here. They will write rave reviews about all kinds of rot. The good poets have already left. I too have exited, but I am here as a critic, commenting on a few poems here and there. Well, will explain things better.

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