Adam, the Moody Bible barista who knows my name
Knows that I read theology here occasionally
Knows that I collect discarded banner advertisements
As decorations for my office, rings me up

One grande caramel latte in a mug
Which I’ll enjoy on a stool by the window
Since the tables are filled with others using
International Coffee Day as an excuse for a drink

There are a few drops on the bar to be cleaned up
Left unconsumed by the last coffee snob
And then I lay out my clean paper
Ready to receive whatever profundities well up

Apparently, I didn’t get the memo about the new dress code
Describing the proper use of earbuds: a fashion must
For anyone wishing to caffeinate in peace
And so, unable to ignore the masses, I notice…

I notice that worship planning is happening behind me
(“Whatever is noble, think on these things”)
Notice that suits are networking across the room
Notice that the regulars are saying their good-byes

And now this is slightly awkward: Two people sit down
Just inches in front of me, oblivious to my noticing
It is true that the window separates us
But now, unable to comfortably look out, I must instead look down

Down at my paper, which is no longer blank
But covered with thoughts that will never make it
Into anyone’s conscience, except my own
Destined be wiped away, like the coffee drops before them


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