Tucked into a breath
between a barbershop
and newsstand,
a wedge of calm
unfazed by scissor snips
and prying eyes,
this café is refuge
to old men
sipping coffee.
The waitress walks
on soundless shoes.
Silence is the space
between quarters
on the counter.
Silence is the sun
sparkling off the tip jar.
Within these doors,
hush is heaven.
A café that is hidden
from the bedlam of the day.
published in Paddler Press Volume 7 “Silence,” republished on Garden of Neuro
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