Flying Star 15 Aug 22

Old men type texts on their smart phones
with one finger and no emojis.

A middle aged woman slices her eggs
with knife and fork.

All but one of the laptops are Macs.
Most of the coffee is diluted with cream and sugar.

From the Quick Fix station
Dean gets a scoop of ice cream in a coffee cup.

Twelve indoor tables are empty—three full.
Twelve outdoor tables are full—three empty.

For the fifth time in ten minutes a person
pushes on a glass door that does not open.

Two young women use the cafe as their office—
write code on screens that look similar to 1980s DOS.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Flying Star

Paul regularly checks
that his shadow remains
attached to his body.

He is sick in a way
that he hides his face
not wishing to be recognized.

I mean at Flying Star
the cafe
where we meet

to discuss why some words
freeze our tongues
into cold silence.

He prays for trust
and a sharp eye
for all his human interactions.

Paul’s shadow
wandered off last Tuesday
but we found it before nightfall

among the bright purple
up the arroyo in bear canyon.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney