Joes' Coffee in the Village


Simple while sitting

beneath ample shade of the willow

still weeping

silent sentinel

of the unmarked graves

of the dead confederates

of the fallen federals



A community

A neighborhood that sparks the sense of wonder

for my parents were married a stones throw from where I sit

a union only Death could put asunder



To think on what games were played, childhood secrets shared

budding souls were bared

at the graveyard grade school

next to the church

where I wax sobriety three times a week

drinking in my kindred spirits