pungent coffee, stains my mouth, as <br />i sit and drink in my surroundings, <br />a carnival of unknown people, parade, <br />and talk, and shuffle around, each <br />balancing a steaming cup, careful not <br />to spill a drop, as chaotic roar <br />of countless voices, bubble <br />and boil over into incoherence – the <br />background noise of modern age, <br />conversation rendered silent, in <br />this coffee house<br /><br />Christopher Withers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coffee-morning/
