“Coffee Cup, Empty” by DAH

This dimly-lit café, there’s a voice

then two, then three

speaking like a detuned triangle 

with so much impatience.

Winter, dense and black, 

crams itself into this room.

Outside, muted colors 

are carried off in the night.

I long for winter’s death

for the dark streets

to shed their unfriendliness 

to move less anxiously. 

Devoid of moonlight 

there are streetlamps, weak 

somber and rusted, 

aging along the sidewalks.

I am the one looking outside

past myself,

beyond reflections in the window

my coffee cup is empty

and the three voices rise in pitch

one elevating higher

than the others  

and full of extreme emotions.

There’s no meaning to it 

everything sounds abrupt 

and charged with judgment,   

my head reacts like a victim.

The voices leave the café

I watch them in the cold

floating through the air 

words turning to steam.

DAH is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best Of The Net nominee, and the lead editor for the poetry critique group, The Lounge. The author of nine books of poetry, DAH lives in Berkeley, California, and has been teaching yoga to children in public and private schools since 2005. He is working on his tenth poetry book, which is due for release in September, 2020 from Clare Songbirds Press.

Image Credit

One thought on ““Coffee Cup, Empty” by DAH

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.