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.