Hidden pies,
barrels of beer under the floorboards,
and a song.
The old cafe
sits waiting for the gold rush time to come,
and sighs.
An open door,
there’s food, drinks, and sweets galore,
and a dance.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
Hidden pies,
barrels of beer under the floorboards,
and a song.
The old cafe
sits waiting for the gold rush time to come,
and sighs.
An open door,
there’s food, drinks, and sweets galore,
and a dance.
Chatter from all sides,
the sound of glasses,
cups, knives, forks, spoons.
Ambient comforting feelings
come and go as the
music starts to play.
Moonlight shines far off,
as the river calls for a
swim, you talk nonsense.
A dance begins, then
the wine flows faster,
the night spins, you relax.
Standing alone in your cafe on a scorching summer’s day. Obsessed about over-thinking and wishing for some relief from the heat, you reach for the mop and bucket.
You named your mop Boris and your bucket Dorothy. You take comfort in imagining that sometimes Boris gets a little angry with Dorothy, but Dorothy always gets Boris back when she squeezes the life out of him.
Dancing a little boogie to a random beat, you let Boris take the lead. Not only does Dorothy scold him, but you do too. He gets so hurt his head falls off on the floor. You pick it up and try to put it back on again, but it’s broken.
Dorothy will need a new Boris. You smile when you think about your new mop’s name.