Here’s my retreat,
here’s where I go,
this mug, this refill
of purchased repose;
Louche between low chats
of fat latte ladies,
opposite capped men,
brusque and too matey:
Aglow screen readers,
the Twitter typed lovers,
drugged kids in buggies,
under suffocate of covers;
a blind date, or business,
a couple here meet,
slow in the choosing –
What the f*ck to eat?
I am served by angels
in tight branded aprons,
when they offer the menu
my life is then taken.