Every morning in the old coffee shop
Among newspapers and old memories
They lecture each other the same old truths.
It seems they don’t know how to listen much
As their voices merge in strange counterpoint,
Muzak and radios in shopping malls.
Coffee steam rising into the cool air,
Toast and eggs vanish between conclusions,
All around them the world disappearing,
But words hang like shields in front of their eyes.
Even now, how many friends can they name,
Gone like morning fog or breakfast coffee?
Their passionate politics do not leave
Even an echo among the mountains and stars.
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