Book Store Coffee House
A Beat poem
In the windows I see figures,
Lost souls in books and coffee.
Young cats, no trouble,
Only cash from Daddy's pocket.
Brooding faces looking sideways,
At a mirror.
Each a reflection of what others want to see.
No one really wants to
What they really can be.
All gone on a trip read in a magazine.
I wrote this as an entry into a beat (as in beatnik) poetry contest.
They never got back to me. It's about the obsession with used books
and coffee that seems to be the trend around New York.