A taste for bitter coffee

the occasional sweet.

The additional minutes

that lay before me.

The past turn away from you

leading to your early opening.

The first free coffee of the day

a likely possibility.

The coffee card punched

giving way for someone else.

A chance encounter

a fleeting glance.

The briefest social encounter

during the deadly Covid dance.

Masked upon arrival

quick feet in and out.

Your corner spot

a regular crossing point.

The many connections

over the years.

Shared stories of joys

and fears.

Seeds of information

from the good to the bad.

The shelves of pastries

deli goods.

The members of

our neighborhood.

Passing tourists, new faces

license plates.

Familiar vehicles of

common friends , family.

Drawn and joined by

beer and wine.

Fresh bread the

aroma of cooked food.

All the mysteries and wonders

of a complex venue.

To see and be seen,

to taste and smell.

To hear and listen in

to voices, other conversations.

A place to find the missing

meaning of time and place.

A first of day greeting

a held open door.

A ritual, a rite of

early morning passage.

But a jolt of despair

on discovering your closing.

Racks in the driveway

a sign in your door.

A place of coffee

sweets no more.

A loss for words

the memory of taste.

Swept away, a loss

of fate.

A diamond in the rough,

a loss to the community.

A sensory grieving

with nothing to replace it with.

The ache of a simple love lost

not to return.

No steps to grace the floor

of the empty space.

No celebration for the

senses of the living.

The dry coffee pot

a sign of how things change.

Not always for the better

the new taste brings..