Ken's Poetry

Cafeteria

A coven of old ladies sip tea
chanting magic shopping spells
and here and there a glazed old man
drifts into a semiconscious sleep.
Children filled with Christmas beans
misbehave with skidding screeches.
People come and go, the waitress
glares in passing – wriggling me.
The music of crockery and cutlery
percusses the gaggle of voices
and an occasional laugh or snippet
solos from the fray
as all the weary people
recharge their shopping cells
Christmas, just two weeks away.