|"Cafe Central in Vienna" by Andreas Praefcke|
As I sit and ponder in this armchair
I can't begin to describe each feature
That surrounds me in this room
Where a gray light glimmers down
Upon my shoulders.
A faint reflection of a tree
Grows upon a mirrored screen
Just behind my self portrait,
It's limbs extend beyond
The spaces that I stand upon.
Before me are mysterious people
Whose chatter I'll listen to;
Not because I deem it alright,
But because it is a subtle delight
To listen to their random words.
Above me I hear the faintest sound
Of a chiming piano key;
It is relaxing and nearly silent
But when one truly listens
It is more than just salient.
Machines relentlessly chatter:
The grinding of coffee beans,
Or the sputter of milk and creamer,
Perhaps even the ice locker,
But they are noises just the same.
In the distance is a foreign land
Full of scripts and discounted mags
Just waiting to be uplifted
From their dust covered shelves
And read, to the bitter end.
People seem to come and go
But what they don't know
Is that I sit here and wonder
What to do in mid-Decmeber?
In a small town cafe.
When my senses are weakened
From the cold sickness
That lingers in my every nerve
Yet my creative spark lingers
To paint a beautiful picture.
Question: "Have you ever found it hard to write when sick?"