Jazz Personae Poem #13 by Elizabeth Beck

250 Replies

I walk through oak framed glass doors
paper mache goat’s head suspends
above long mazes of book-lined shelves
under copper tiled ceiling railroad
scuffed hard-wood floors creak
as gleaming metal espresso makers
hiss steam. The acrid odor pulls
my attention across the long bar
where artists and writers meet
at the end of their solitary days
of creation to clink glasses, find
inspiration from conversation
I long to linger to overhear snatches
of brilliance. Unspoken code respected
students do not approach the bar.
Instead, we honor the back tables
relegated by under aged attempts
to drink black coffee, sneak cigarettes
in the back alley littered with garbage
strewn. Butts stubbed scatter like
petals on the black tar stick to bottom
of sneakers. Baristas sigh through
pierced noses at the sight of our disheveled
selves crowding into the coffee house
after school hoping to inhale inspiration.

-Elizabeth Beck

250 thoughts on “Jazz Personae Poem #13 by Elizabeth Beck”

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