drinking coffee
on my front porch

listening to the
doves wake up

a plaintive coo
sounds from the oak

and after a pause
a wavering echo

from the elm
and then another

in the distance
almost drowned out

by the highway din
I drift away

now I am back
and I wait

but the conversation
has ended

gray dawn light seeps
through the trees

my cup has grown
cold and empty


Tom Spencer © 2018