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Sunday at the cafe.
The New York Times, an espresso,
the brilliant sunshine.
The suburbanites-they bore me
With their minivan and kids
Why are they downtown?
Waiting for a table,
blocking my sunlight as I read.
If only they would leave.
(Gaffe, 1995)
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sunday at the cafe
a milkstained dr. seuss, an applejuice
brilliant sun gilding a child's hair
the kidless city punks bore me
with their outoftown papers and $4 coffee
Do they think they could make it in Paris?
Waiting for a table
my restless child asks for a hug
If only the lone reader knew such warmth.
(Geli T, 1995)
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