Not In My Cafe Poem by Joshua Bantum

She’s a stern old woman,
This café owner,
There’s no doubt she’s been around,
At one time she’d impress,
Been fondled and caressed,
Looking beautifully when undressed.
But now she wilts with the seconds.
The decline of appearance affects us differently,
But affects us all.

Either way,
I like her so,
Eyes capturing every moment,
She could catch the grass in growth.

The nerves of her spine
Extend further than just her body,
They breech upon the tiles,
And continue through the lobby.
The vibration of every stop, it’s weight,
Recorded exactly of it’s depth.

So patiently I wait,
For her Hellish glare
To swat me from my chair,
Back into the cold,
For Lago de Como to behold
The right café for me,
Where solemnly and silently,
I can write poetry,
And quietly fall asleep.