Pour Joe Coffee Shop

A book at the coffee bar is open
to the ‘page of the day’, it’s yellowed
from facing the window
ever since gin was served in teacups.

I look over the words
and string sense together,
I get the string of pelicans outside
skimming the melancholy between breakers.

A purple woman with an aggressive figure
drops two copies of a book on the bar,
“Do you like to read?” she asks.
I can’t tell her I don’t know.

Reading a page isn’t like reading
a purple storm thundering over the ridge,
get ready.

I read the grounds in my cup’s pit,
they tell me, “I read, I guess I like it.
Get ready.“