When I arrived at the coffee house, and was
comfortably seated,
the sun was just setting into the
leftover gray of the rain.
I was dipping almond biscotti in coffee, and
letting it sog a little before ending it —
my aching belly.
When I next looked up from my
selfish spread —
laptop, coffee,
empty plate for biscotti, brainstorms —
the sun, and the gray, were gone.
Headlights lit up wet road,
the grit of city nighttime.
I was two or three ideas more than two hours before.
Composed at Smokey Row Coffee House in Des Moines, Iowa. 2.17.20.
