the subtle whirring of the grinder hums in the air,
the dark brown and green colors keeping the ease of everyone inside

middle-aged women talk,
girls with blue hair work on essays,
a construction worker gets his caffeine fix on a government- mandated break

your glasses fog when you enter out of the cold,
into the warm embrace of the dark gray walls,
needing a latte,
and perhaps something more

as chairs screech on hard floors,
you approach the wooden counter,
worn down from coins being exchanged,
mugs being passed,
and elbows being rested

acoustic guitar lulls in your ear,
inviting you to stay for awhile

maybe you should join the dance of quiet purpose,
enjoy the energy,
and try to get some work done

just like you, everyone inside has a job,
a purpose to fulfill,
each an actor reading their lines to complete the aesthetic

so you decide to stay,
absent-mindedly order your coffee,
telling yourself you will finally complete that assignment,
when you know you'll end up writing,
titling your poem "a day at the coffee shop"