A funeral came by the coffee shop today.
Draped in sable and charcoal
their faces angular and lower
than usual –
pinched against cemetery winds.

From my seat in the corner I watch.
The children sit on parental laps
fighting hugs hugged too tight
and smearing blueberry scones
against their tiny faces,
happy in their moment.

The adults array round
the long table, talk in soft                                                        
whips:
        "Did you see
                 -----‘s dress?
         Ugh, so ugly."
Their voices carry
through the business,
scathing and sharp,
angry in their moment.

An older gentleman leans his cane
against his knee, palsy mug
pressed against the tabletop,
and stares. Stares. Stares
at three generations,
stares alone in his moment.