I'm sitting here
On this filthy sidewalk
Drinking my coffee
And writing this poem
By the way,
My coffee is awful
I could have prepared it so much better
I know this place so well
Too well
Cigarette butts, practically everywhere
Some of which are my own
Here I am
Still sitting here,
Writing this poem
And drinking my coffee
Each drink I taste gets a tad bit better
So, really I shouldn't complain
But no one is listening anyway
I think I'll just continue to sit here
Maybe write another poem,
Light another cigarette,
And continue drinking this awful cup of coffee.
No one sees me anyway.