morning coffee

grip your cold brew

wet fingertips against the wood

tap tapping

who are you waiting for?

It felt like a couple seconds but

now thirty minutes have passed

you give your table to two women, and now

you’re standing at the wall

looking so down

waiting for someone, something

but they never came

so long stranger with your

brown beard, longing eyes

waiting for nothing to come

I wrote this sitting in a coffee shop. I felt uninspired until I saw a man at the table next to mine. He sat alone for a long time, and though I didn't know his situation, I felt prompted to write about him. This is just a one-draft piece, so it's not anything spectacular. Looking at my surroundings gives me numerous ideas for a poem or short story.