A Turkish Café Set in the Suburbs
It seems that summer in the South
It pushes out the spring.
And birds, so desperate to keep pace,
They just past midnight sing.

And in my slumber, lo these months,
The world around me changed.
So I decide to go explore:
See how it's rearranged.

I came upon a luscious green,
Set just before downtown,
Where verdant trees cast thoughtful shade
On grasses newly mown.

And see a couple, years ago,
Beneath this very sun,
Whose quest—their café's perfect home—
Say: Dear, we've found the one.

The patio is warm and broad
Where spring's sweet breezes flow:
A nifty observation deck
Where amblers are the show.

Some tables linger, chatting on,
The remnants of the lunch:
A birthday trio, folks with babes—
Subdued suburban bunch.

And just inside a placard lists
Their Mediterranean fare,
In front of which the owner stands
And greets his guest with care.

I ask him if his café's name
Was taken from The Faith
And though it rings a bell, there's no
Connection so he saith.

So I proceed to ask what's good,
First-timer as I am,
And ponder quick his savory list—
And then request the lamb.

I settle in a corner chair
And take a great, deep breath.
The springtime air is warm and sweet
With hints of baby's breath.

An unassuming wrap arrives
On dishes white and plain,
But bread so soft and seasoned lamb
"Delicious" can't explain.

Been ages since I've had this dish,
And never quite so good.
I ponder if perhaps their trick
Might be a seasoned wood.

The owner has a special treat—
Perhaps because I'm new—
He proudly offers, on the house,
Their Turkish coffee brew.

"The mother of all coffees," says
He with a great delight.
And though 'tis but a thimbleful
He's absolutely right!

Who knew that just a simple shot
Could pack that kind of kick.
Its flavor rich and balance sweet
And very, very thick.

I kick on back and contemplate,
This sated butterfly:
Emerged from my cocoon, 'tis not
The world that's changed, but I.

Between the heat and stimulant
Tonight will see no rest.
Perhaps, since now I'll be up late,
I'll find that noisy nest.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

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