The wind brings in the autumn leaves, to fill the entryway
Girl behind the apron, trying to keep the ghosts at bay
Sweeping in the much-too-early sunshine
Her perfumed hair is sparkling like after-dinner wine
Cafe’s telltale art is all angles, nothing real
Hung with ample pride, dramatic to conceal
Wilted lashes from the party night before
Where apron girl looked again for something more
Than this substitute cafe
Where they all try to score, with the substitution girl
Like a temporary break
From the flavor of their mate, the doldrums of their fate
And she gives herself away
At the substitute cafe
Buried in a strong latte, touched by cardamom
Stifled in a baked souffle, comparable to none
She serves up all the finest, to anyone who asks
Smiling over bags of beans, she’s focused on the task
Silver-haired philosophers and their beatnik gals
Cross their legs and beckon with strings of tiny bells
This cafe used to have some charm, but now it signals debt
Innuendos lead to dates the girl would rather get
Than this substitute cafe
Where they all try to score, with the substitution girl
Like a temporary break
From the flavor of their mate, the doldrums of their fate
And she gives herself away
At the substitute cafe
No comments:
Post a Comment