Coffee Poetry

Sometimes I get really fidgety working in my office, mulling over paragraphs of language we have carefully spun like silk, ordering and reordering them for various grant applications.

My boss is kind enough to let me take this work to a coffee shop from time to time. I did this last week, and I found myself with a large cup of chai and a room full of people hiding from winter in deep, steaming mugs: high school softball team, large goteed man with a Mac computer, two old women wearing pullover sweaters with bright designs embroidered on the front.

As I contemplated a different manner in which to say “thank you” that didn’t include the words grateful, thankful, or appreciative, I glanced out the window to a dark blue hybrid hatchback of some sort (I don’t know car brands from football teams) and noticed an interesting license plate: POETRY.

Now I was more curious about the fellow coffee-shoppers. Which one was it? Not the softball girls, that was for sure. Mac man? No, I could see his computer screen and it looked like he was working on Excel spreadsheets. What kind of a person whose license plate is POETRY ever has the need to do spreadsheets? The old ladies were a possibility perhaps, but they looked more like they were conducting a Bible study than contemplating assonance. I settled for a professor-y looking man with longish gray hair and black oval glasses. It had to be him–he was fairly distinguished-looking, and seemed dishevelled enough to be a poet.

I returned to my work, but was careful to watch each person as they left to make sure they didn’t get away in POETRY without my notice. After about a half hour, Professor packed himself up and made his way out of our coffee burrow into the blizzarding Minnesota. He didn’t get in POETRY.

I ended up leaving before my unknown POETRY friend, so the mystery remains. Do any of you know POETRY?

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