Cafe Carpe Diem

Barefoot, I have ventured out
in the cold before first light
to sit with my coffee, the cup
warm in my hands
and wait for inspiration
to strike once more.

Take a sip,
where is the muse today
and every other day?
Before morning, before work
with focus ticking on its
metronome counting seconds
the way this moment slowly
reveals the skeleton of a snapped
tree limb resting off to the left.

Another sip,
and now a car is pulling
into the lot, our Slavic neighbors,
restless cleaning crew returning home
fresh off the night shift.

I watch with mild disinterest
as they cross toward the entrance,
distracted and growling to each other
something important, I suppose
in Polish.