Evening in the Bookstore Coffeeshop

The clerks murmur in the back
      of the cafe,
the one who punched my coffeecard
      even when I bought tea,
and the mean one who wouldn't.
A red-blonde woman bites her thumbs
      as she reads.
Through the window, headlights
      come down the hill in a steady stream.
My cookie is eaten and still I want more,
      as if each page required its own sweet.
The ponderous work of reading journal poetry,
      turning each page like lifting weights.
Looking up between lines to contemplate
      the snack bar, the other patrons.
Losing the thread of the thing,
      going back to start over.
Poetry like the ocean coming in --
      rolling forward, rolling back.
Never really getting anywhere.

 Kim Hodges

from February, 2001 issue