when you turn left on N. Elm St. from 380,
there’s a coffee shop shoved
on to the end of a strip mall on your right

where the parking lot’s been covered
by a green tarp like fake grass and picnic benches
for lounging during summertime margarita sales

a tiny place, crowded and cluttered
with bright yellow couches
and grad students with computers

where it smells like home,
like espresso brewing, like
cookies baking in the oven

where the barista will pour you
another drip coffee that
coats your tongue,

lulling you into forgetting
that time exists
before you even order


Day 2 of National Poetry Writing Month: write a poem about a specific place —  a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details, like street names, distances (“three and a half blocks from the post office”), the types of trees or flowers, the color of the shirts on the people you remember there. 

So, of course I had to write about my all time favorite coffee shop. Please consider donating to their Go Fund Me during these difficult times.

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