Do not touch 9/6/02

Tireless, I sit, in the cafe atelier,
whisps of the lovely sort, flurry before.
Careless, priceless airless air I breath,
in the cafe more.

Metropolitan sound, outside, leaks in.
dripster jazz sops loudly within.
over and over, again, it plays,
to the point of madness, I think for days.

There stands Anna, Michelle and unnammed,
tired and tempting, hard-working their game.
Pour, fizzle-fizzle, take, pour, scrub,
a sick old game of a girl on the out.

Bonus False grins, protected by him.
"Protected from what?", I ask. Financial Loss?
Rules that are seen, but not to be heard from the
lurking man, the owner, the boss.

these ethics, these words, whispered in my mind.
"Look, but do not touch." "Look, but do not touch."