Morning Coffee

Tripping over
   4-wheeled arrogance
   and mini-vanned imbeciles,
the blue-veined elderly man attempted 
   to hold 
   his place
   in line
Doughnut choices, incorrectly spelled,
   illuminated the wall
   behind
the young disinterested girl,
   a “server” who decorated
   the counter with tip-canned demands
   and designer coffee bags, artisan,
   and macchiato teasers
A young mother of three 
   wild-eyed, well-coifed, 
   and uniformed children
   discreetly pinched and
   loudly threatened her brood
while the older man
carefully guarded his feet
   and space in line.
Unsan had left him
   medaled and limping
   shrapnelled and cautious 
   with “Scrappy Blue” nightmares.
Then Pittsburg’s deindustrialization 
   and forty-seven years
   of a demanding church-going
   woman, whose sweet face
belied her exacting soul 
ate at him and changed his demeanor 
In line, suits and skirts complained
   of passing time, traffic, and the market
   while tapping phones.
A flannelled, man-bunned, and disdainful
   BOY tried to ease ahead
but the older man held his place.
His unblinking challenge and caned position
held against the rudeness
     against the insolence
     against the youth
he witnessed.
These salaried children
   were clueless to hardship
   they coined more annually
than his home cost years ago.
From the street a car alarm beeped
   and scolded two cappuccinoed 
   hairsprayed men for taking
     too long
Time too quickly runs away
   children grown, wife and dog buried
and now
   this waitress or barista
   rolling her eyes
   waited for his order
of regular coffee to go.