Ode to Kuma Coffee House

A stoneway siren's song for dusty travellers
It welcomes you
it beckons to broken shards of city bards
of workers hard and busriders sore with fare to settle
gathering, collecting like weathered leaves
with long stories to tell;
it brings up people we forgot about,
or never knew 'til now.
Ruminating over glaze of jam
laughing and lamenting crimes of Uncle Sam,
Swilling earthen bean in a tongue of war
over salty work politic--
all comers take the artist's brush and knife
and embrace the lust of countryside
where city scapes whisper of old trolls and moldy souls
whose ghosts still linger in our doorways.

Where is a musician's swarthy soul when you need one?
but at a coffee house.

Dipping into soup pots, a carrot stock bringing fiber
to customer's spiritual sustenance,
a celery circumstance, a donut hole we not yet know,
a toasted cheese--an exhorted salty sentence to please!
a pearful of ginger in a muffin
to trounce your savory tongue.
A taste of pumpkin spice to forever entice!

Truck drivers, merchants and social workers
cutting each other off to see smoky wafts of rising steam
from the holy brew of Kuma Coffee.
It welcomes you.
It beckons to broken shards of holy bards
in all of us.
Think twice next time you ride nearby on city bus.