At Coonamessett Farm

You with your coffee,
cream no sugar, and
I with jasmine tea,
idling at the worn simple table
on the porch of Our Cafe,
the rough sturdy porch,
walls papered
with notes of lost cats and
available baby sitters.
We gaze over neat rows
of summer squash, heirloom tomatoes,
flat leaved parsley and asters.
Beyond the green,
graze Andes alpaca,
Asian donkeys, and African goats.

We talk of important nothings,
of happenings in far deserts
and farther jungles,
of next week's road race and
last week's band concert,
of butterflies and hurricanes,
we gossip of people known,
almost known and wish were known.

This cup of tea,
that mug of coffee
this unpointed chatter
this is close to happy.