Café Epiphany

The café is always full.

The harsh lights dazzle me,

The noise sluices over me-

Comforting, in a way, I suppose.

No eye is trained on me as I enter.

A morass of swaying beings,

Moving as one-

Dank frowning suits,

Tired mothers-

All there for the same thing

Going different ways.

It's a battle getting to where you want;

Swimming upstream.

I seat myself awkwardly,

Elbows and words invading my space;

My own space – 5 short minutes of peace.

A girl sulks towards me,

Throws a coffee on my table.

Sways off.

She's pretty, but…

I watch her go.

She doesn't look back.

Yet another life I'll never know.

My coffee:

A familiar smell,

Black swirling black.

Spilt down the just-washed cup,

Half empty.

Industrial pot of cream (or so they say) on the side.

I've always had my coffee white;

An assumption always made,

The altered version first.





Or White?

Rather radical leap,


Essentially they are the same.

But they prefer white…

Odd, that.

My coffee tastes the same.

It always does.

I stand.

My seat is filled before I can take another breath.

A great automaton,

Whirring and clicking,

Never stopping.

Each component

A bundle of memories,



Isolated on their chairs,

At their tables,

Too scared to share or decipher their feelings.

There's a manager somewhere,

Arranging this chaos.

Shame he seldom graces us with his presence.

I turn to leave.

The noise becomes oppressive,

The lights are glaring.

The door opens smoothly and soundlessly.

Sudden breeze purges my senses.

I am safe and sad in the knowledge that

No-one will have noticed me leave.

No-one ever notices you leave.

The café seems dingy

And so small…

I can't hear the murmured cacophony any more,

But it still goes on;

People ebb and flow,

But the noise never stops