I wait for my coffee
I set by a round table
It stands on three twisted legs
And I count the beans
In my last pay cheque
It is going to be a long while
Before the next comes along
I better take care of my little beans
They refuse to grow.

Three men walk through the door
Three masked men faceless
And mean
They ask the shopkeeper
To remain … silently where is
To keep the cashier closed
They are not after the establishment money
They say
They support local businesses
They say
But they are after the outsiders
They say
They want outsiders’ money, clothes
And their soul.

The shopkeeper was not from the area
The keepers didn’t understand the dialect
And didn’t care much for the look
They answered with shots
And chaos supervened
Too many shadows stepped out of the shadow
And folks ran
I ran too.

In a cold apartment alone
I wonder how lonely my beans are
My beans I lost in the chaos
Of keepers, masked figures and shadows
I cry
From the pain of hunger
But what am I hungry for?

June 14, 2017