pungent coffee, stains my mouth, as
i sit and drink in my surroundings,
a carnival of unknown people, parade,
and talk, and shuffle around, each
balancing a steaming cup, careful not
to spill a drop, as chaotic roar
of countless voices, bubble
and boil over into incoherence – the
background noise of modern age,
conversation rendered silent, in
this coffee house
Christopher Withers
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coffee-morning/
