Sitting in the coffee-shop
He writes, inhales deeply
On the cigarette just lit,
Sipping on his tea
Thoughtfully.

It is Earl Gray, sugar
To sweeten the warm tea,
Cream to add body,
Yet it isn’t the same tea
He loves.

He doesn’t like the cigarette,
Dislikes it but likes the habit,
Thinking of the work he likes
As he silently ponders
His working habit.

Tired, Mentally drained, physically
Alive, he sits,
He writes,
He drinks, he smokes
Alone.

Safer alone, no conflict
After a day of conflict. The
Conversation of business
Grates on his nerves
Silently.

Butterfly farms and restaurant yarns
Birdseed worries and
Butterfly scurries
Mean nothing, so
Little to him.

So he sits,
Drinks his tea,
Smokes his cigarette
And writes
The last line of this poem.

Written in a coffee shop in the 1990s.