In a musty smoke filled room,
a gentleman reads aloud
with blue denim emotion
and beaded intellect,
while others listen wholeheartedly
contemplating every word.
A racing mind paces,
and occasionally pauses at an ashtray
shaking his head in agreement,
while between lines,
someone darts out to
“change his beer”.
And as old and new faces
crowd the entrance to witness
the kiss of the poet,
stories are told
of growing up
and growing old;
of fear,
and love,
and death;
there are words on mothers,
and fathers;
and friends who got lost in-between;
and even about Popsicles, and vacations,
and Happy Meals.
Yes, for many it is a place of warmth and serenity;
a place to share and to learn.
For some it is home,
and for some
it is just something to do
on Sunday at four.
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