MANCHESTER NH
ELM STREET CAFÉ’
Same - rustic appearance,
booths lined side by side.
Drab color of wine, worn
at the edges; a shadowy
dingy place – a waitress
serves with a smile. . .
A soda fountain leans up
against a back wall
covered with white sheets
and some black leather
stools where young people in
the fifties had to twist, had
to hear the stool squeak.
Slightly above each booth
a photograph of Presidents
of our past; Presidential
Primaries, those who won,
who lost – framed
photographs - patrons –
tell stories of when, and
laugh. . .
Sipping black coffee, my
head leans against wine
colored torn plastic seats,
and I see a vivid view of
a young lady, pony tails,
poodle skirts and eyes
flirting, as her body
twists on a stool – back
and forth – her hair
brushes against pure
white skin.
Patrons still congregate,
without a poodle skirt of
black leather jackets, and
children have hair pulled
into a pony tail – everyone
sips black coffee from a
cream color ceramic mug,
as the waitress with a
smiles fills each cup. . .
Once it was a newspaper
which occupied a mind –
now each morning men
enter carrying leather cases,
wearing fine silk ties, and
open up their life stored in
a computer, and they talk
aloud, alone.
A streak of sun cuts through
glass from the south window
of the café’ and catches a
sparkle of white hair; still
a waitress smiles, talks of
photographs, and stories
she once shared.
A streak of light crosses
a face, one sipping coffee
and silk ties – lines on his
face – exaggerated -
his voice speaks to the
congregation – but no one
knows what side he’s on.
Patrons listen.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
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