Coffee Break

The IT savvy Costa patrons sprawl at silent tables,
ignoring each other while reaching out
to hundreds of strangers with thumping
opposable thumbs. Lip spreading smirks
map the ether's returned signals.

An older Connemara man runs a finger round
the collar of a sensible shirt. He spoon coaxes
strength from a teapot for one.
His wife sits erect, off the chair back,
eyes flashing, licking the edge off a Latte.

She heaps butter and jam on their scones.
He sits back, content with her lifetime habit.
A young Polish man nudges his wife, hinting.
Her eyebrows arch as she passes the knife,
His head shake nearly unnoticed.

The traveller woman speaks loudly over the racket
from her complaining baby. A clink of coins
secures the 'chapest' drink. She weaves to a table
for four, raiding the pram for the baby's bottle
and a heap of crinkly foil sandwiches.

Nudges and nods pass the predictable
prejudice down the shuffling queue.
Sulking children hunt for spaces,
parents struggle to balance
the over indulgent trays.

A poem from 'Faltering Senses' by Bill Griffin