Dishes lightly clank
During polite conversation
As they are set on wiped
Down cafe tables.
Can I be as centered as the
Arranged florals
That live as focal points
Between the faint kitchen talk
And the hissing steam wand
From the espresso machine?
At least the aroma is good
For the sluggish soul, grasping
That they are no longer in bed
But with the rowdy rest
In need of a pick-me-up before
Facing the chaotic schedule
That waits ahead.