Sunday Poems 55: Coffeeshop community

With the secularization of our society, most of us have lost a place to gather with our community. Some of us use the internet to do this, but the net has the tendency to organize us into small units of homogeneous, self-reinforcing thought, and tends not to help build bonds with others in a close geographic range. A part of community, and one to be celebrated especially now *is* diversity. Differences in age, race, neurology, ability, and politics are best when allowed to be together.

Coffee shops are not just places to sit and drink coffee — they never have been. I can make a good cup of coffee at home in about a minute and a half for about fifty cents. I would argue that coffee shops are not about the coffee — no matter how much some trendy coffee shop owners would prefer you to believe otherwise.

At my local coffee shop, most of the staff knows me. About six months ago, a new employee figured out by the third time they saw me that I always get the same thing, even though I usually stare at the menu for fifteen seconds, slackjawed, just to make sure. There are several friends I’ve made just because we always go to the same place to work when the desk in our rooms feels too close to the bed.

Sundays are nice days to forgive, and nice days not to forgive. Looking for blame or quietly moving on. Pipes clicking in the walls. Below is a poem. If you like it, consider sharing it with a friend. As always, I’m here if you need to talk. Have a great week, everybody.

an erotics of the internet

i cut your hair and you cut my skin
you curl up in front of me
you scare me.

i am big and you are violent
connective tissue,
are there joints to cushion where we meet?

you tell me that you hate
how beautiful i am and
turning to mush
blushing like a hyacinth.

when you left with your cigarette to a taxi
you wore an ex-miliary coat
with a red star on the lapel
and i wanted to kiss you
if i could walk.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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