Black Coffee

Steam curls against the windshield of a

police car,

creeping up from a cup of black coffee.

A slow flashing light; red, green, yellow.

Periodically changing on a still street,

reflecting in last night's trickling rain and

blinking off and pooling into the tired

after-dark memory.

The radio mumbles over leather seats in a

desperate attempt at relativity. 

Consciousness is quick and darting;

ever jolting back and forth.

A fog seeping over the bay engulfs

the restless city lights; misty, fading.

Lieutenant.

Lieutenant.

The sun is coming up.

Steam settles on the glass pane of a weary

morning diner,

the yawn of a cheap black coffee.

Sleepy wanderers drift by in a haze; the

bums, the drunks, the alleyway women,

waking slowly with the rock pigeons.

The passive in-between-ness that noon

erases wholly with papers and sirens.

Lieutenant.

Lieutenant.

The sun is peeking.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I loved your work today.
"Steam settles on the glass pane of a weary
morning diner,
the yawn of a cheap black coffee.
Sleepy wanderers drift by in a haze; the
bums, the drunks, the alleyway women,
waking slowly with the rock pigeons."
I adored the above lines. So vivid, you took me back my 6 am walk on the Monterey beach. Thank you dear Anna for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[The Twin Arenas]

Loved this. I'm not used to such an obviously contemporary setting in your writing.

[Chris]

a snapshot of moments... the reality is evident.

[Beccy]

That first line got my attention and I was absorbed to the finish.

You paint a very real picture here.

Beccy.