Welcome to Saxy’s
Editor’s note: This is a guest poem from Virginie’s lost swan of the Copper Ceiling blog
What Saxy’s Cafe must be like in the morning,
I imagine people rushing in to get their mochas;
in the early afternoon the first glass of wine has just
been taken to the couches, a Pepperwood that
a woman with a V neck is holding in the air, as
she reads a book; then looks up, two women
friends coming to join her;
a barista is talking about her thesis on the Tour
De France in literature and art…
In the old movie there on the cafe wall people
are waving goodbye to family and friends who
are at the railing of a ship and the people on
the ship wave down to the people on the dock…
An argument breaks out near me, a man and
a woman holding a baby, the man saying, “Your
sister can go to hell!” I get up to order a doppio…
By night I meet a date on the couches, a woman
whom I’m introducing to Saxy’s, and she buys us
two red wines for my birthday that has recently
passed, and there’s conversation all around us,
a student who looks stoned, and a homeless man
coming in who wears a Yankee cap in Winter…
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