Dirty Hairy

Froth breaks as I dip my tea,
Wishing I had brought headphones.
Choosing to ignore those around me.
The music is lulling, the conversations drone.

A Dirty Hairy; steamed milk and Earl Grey.
A hint of sweetness on my tongue
The heat of my drink burns less than what they say-
Words of envy, gossip, and high-strung.

A pile rests on my table of waved wood.
Phone atop of Bible, metaphysically true
I know I should, and totally could,
But there it sits, second in crew.

Shadowboxes rest with plain white frames.
The pictures inside match the frames plainness
Strange patterns of green and purples flames
Being sold for ninety-five dollars.  Painless.

This place is all too real, it exists.
Full of pretentiousness
Which fully insists
Contentiousness