later, at the coffee shop,
I say I am alone
to the young waitress
inquiring how many

~ difficult to admit 
to a stranger ~

she smiles anyway, leads 
me to a window seat;
my ears are ringing,
there is a pink shade of light
forming on a rising sun.

Violins are playing, and I’m thinking 
no one sleeps forever, news
from a fallen world screams
from the headlines of my spread
newspaper; her smile returns
to pour my coffee.

People walk by me on the sidewalk
like unicorns grazing—
like history forming; 

~ I wish I knew where 
they are all going ~

instead, I sip and watch
the waitress walk away in rhythm
to the strings of invisible violins,
and pretend the truth perpetuates
due to our inability to confront
anything of consequence.

Tim J Brennan is a 1983 UWEC grad. His poetry has appeared in Twig, Up North, The Lake, Local Lit,, and Talking Stick. His plays have been staged in Milwaukee, Colorado Springs, and most recently in Taos, NM. Read more from Tim.