Meeting Poetry I

Paper cups of coffee,
clear cups of water,
plastic cutlery in a glass jar,
rubber coasters in an iron caddy,
white walls, hard table, metal chairs.
electronic communications to help us
talk to each other
in this box.

No time for me to speak — but
she keeps on talking.
She tries to teach the world.
She wants to listen but doesn’t hear.

It’s hers, I think.
She’s allowed, I think.

I bite my tongue. I purse my lips.
I take a deep breath.
I take a sip of water.

His striped pink shirt and cuff links are abrasive
but go well with
his hair slicked back.

She preaches,
he counters.

False expectations.

She rolls her eyes.
He giggles behind the notebook.
I scribble.

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