Hot coffee morning,

Banging in the kitchen –

Don’t you know the sun is out?

It has been three days.

Ziggi’s is busy this morning,

But I find a table near the plug on the wall,

Just in case.

 

I miss the 40 inch tall

Standing tables,

They made long Sunday mornings divine.

Now my hip pinches my nerve

And sciatica screams down my leg and

Back up –

Hard wood chairs.

My friend folds a thick sweater to tuck

Underneath,

Against the hard,

A woolen barrier.

 

The next table is where

the best sellers are written,

On Sunday mornings,

While I neglect

Three or more books I’ve started

To daydream,

A sip hot coffee.