On Writing In Coffeeshops

I'm in a poetry mood again. Some titles I've started are "Kitty Heaven," "9 Lives," "Vs." and "Couplets." (Not to mention the "tree series," but that's a whole other story.) I just need to find the time to finish them. But one I did complete...

I found a really neat poem the other day. It's by Adrienne Su, from her book, Having None of It. 

On Not Writing In Cafes

It's too much like sex in a car:

fine as a concept (everyone needs

to be seen at times by strangers),

but reality seldom agrees.

It's clumsy. Whoever happens

along as you start to forget yourself

is not what you fancied - a relation,

a stranger you know too well.

The hand that isn't holding the pen

flails like an animal pinned by a leg.

And the gorgeous epiphany, just then

at the tip of your tongue, has fled.

(Used without permission. But hey, I am giving her proper attribution.)

I really like this poem. The opening simile is precious, so appropriate. And I love the last two lines as well.

But, I like writing in public places. I find that I draw a lot of inspiration when I'm out. So I wrote a counterpoint.

On Writing In Coffeeshops

Blatant exhibitionism:

public display of erudition,

or "PDE." Bringing your art

out, where characters and plot lines hide.

It's exhilarating. Choosing

from the menu board of sensations:

The java smells, the conversation hum,

the visage kaleidoscope.

You put down the pen and dream into

a stranger's words, tics, gestures, or silence.

And then it happens. The muse, elusive,

flirty, coy, has pulled up a chair.

Fun, huh?