They walked into the coffee shop
More zombie than human.
They shuffled past all the people,
More invisible than seen.

At least that’s what they were going for.

They ordered online,
Far from the bustle of those waiting in line.
They wanted nothing of the crowd,
All jonesing for the same product.

Coffee, duh.

They grabbed their drinks,
Not so much as a hello,
They sprinted from the store,
Never offering a thank you.

Assholes, hmmm.

The point of a coffee shop is two parts,
Coffee and conversation,
Some sort of human interaction,
Whether or not a person stays or not.

Put the phones away, yo.

Sit down, chat awhile,
Be more human, less zombie,
Shuffle in and become a part of the community,
Zap the apps… Talk to people.

A friend said of The Doors,
“The most arrogant and pompous band ever,”
I didn’t have a counter
Even though I didn’t disagree
But
I couldn’t agree, either
Since my musical palette includes The Doors,
At least the well-known songs,
Which is like saying,
I kind of like Chinese food,
At least it felt like it sounded like that
Until I started typing the sentence,
Then it sounded like something a lesser Jim Morrison
Would write,
Absent the arrogance and pomposity,
The leather pants,
The heavy drinking,
And all that mystique that fueled The Doors.

I’ve been banging away at the keys all day,
Looking to tighten up a story
Several years in the writing.
It’s lost its way
But
Is right on track
Somewhere between Fitzgerald and Kerouac
Which is pretty arrogant and pompous, I think,
To put my writing up there with those guys
Or to judge one as most excellent and the other shit
So that I could conveniently fall between them.
I suppose an argument could be made
That the literary fortune of all authors
Is made on the edges of upturned noses,
Perhaps the same is true of other creatives,
The more arrogant, the more commercial,
The more bankable
Like my friend, I don’t think I care enough to get there.

Scorched earth, a barren land,
Something straight from an apocalyptic movie,
The kind where some dude
Battles for natural resources
In the heat of a shadeless environ
All the while dressed in heavy black clothes,

That’s where it is.

The turmoil in the Capital,
The rising waters of the ocean,
Not to mention the waste filling up marine life,
Our junk, our refuse, our moral indignity towards
The planet giving us life,
The only place where we can live.

That’s where we are.

An insecurity of the mind,
A fluttering of the heart,
The panic of souls
Wearing nothing but reservation for a lot
Made desolate by ambivalence and insolent thinking
Conjuring thoughts just south of apathy.

That’s that.

A day before,
One where a calm exists,
No impatience,
No anticipation,
Only the ease,
Just the comfort of knowing,
Knowing tomorrow
Will arrive and the day will pass
Just as today will,
With family and friends
Celebrating a day,
Enjoying company,
Being.