“The Theatre Café”

This poem was originally published on The Pittsburgher’s predecessor, The Dog Door Cultural.

Losing hours among

plastic flowers

and electric candles

which flicker artificially,

there is a strange sort of comfort.

A wooden veneer

stained with the rings

of countless conversations

smiles, denials

and sudden transmutations.

Watermarks,

the imprints of distant and forgotten heat

faint evidence of lived bodies and human meat.

A myriad of messages

demarcated in the wood.

Yet,

all I wonder is why no one bothered to use a coaster.

The place is peopled

with young laughter

amid antagonisms

of relaxed and hurried chatter.

Coffee cups clatter

against ceramic plates.

The grinding of coffee

fills the room with its

electric hum.

Yet, above all this noise

pervades an

unmistakable silence.

Plastic flowers and electric candles.

But, at least the walls are made of glass.

Static plastic confronted by ever moving life.

Sat in the inescapable visibility

chewing pencil ends and sipping coffee

there is a strange lack of comfort. ▲

Benjamin Wolff is currently an MSc student at the University of Edinburgh studying Modernist Aesthetics and also the current poetry editor of Inkwell Magazine.