at Marysville, CA 08/2019

Old Poet sits another consumer...
Consuming comfortably in this bland Airforce-Base community Starbucks.
It’s 40 degrees C and we all sit as refugees in the AC.
Old Poet is but another placid non-irritant happily absorbed in the ambiance.
I maneuver through the crowd towards the toilets.
People tell me they are sorry as they move to accommodate me.
I say I’m sorry back.
What is it... in them, in me... that feels in the way, even apologetic?
I encounter this often in America.
“Sorry”.
I am sensitive.
Sometimes I feel what I do is "inappropriate”?
An American reflex.

Old Poet is sitting here in Starbucks composing.
Bold face enthusiasm gleams in his eyes.
Essence of life shines.
The Muse flies about.
There should only be delight…
We are all so fortunate.
Fortunate not only to be people…
But to be people sipping sweet-taste-amplified, caffeinated-iced, milkly fat beverages.
But concern and castigation are in the air.

A young man sits central.
Killing.
He has brought his gaming rig in.
24” flat screen, noise cancelling earphones, bad-ass joy-stick.
He’s jamming on the Starbuck’s wifi.
Blasting away.
Point and shoot.
Everybody can see.
He’s well on his way.
Levels of “hostiles” have been “neutralized”.
Cups of Starbuck’s coffees have been emptied,
Like his kills, cups sit dead on his table in a clutter.
I have to admire him.
He’s not letting the “sorry ” of shame hamper his fun.