National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twelve, "The Man in the Café"

 

I sit in my usual spot,
Inside this café free from rot,
Poring the tea from within its pot,
Nursing the drink now scolding hot.
Leaning back I see him stare,
From the mahogany table over there,
A dark presence overbearing,
And though normally I would not be caring,
This time I find my intrigue flaring.
Who was this man with a grim look,
A simple stranger at first I took,
With his red leather-bound pocket book,
But I doubt that would be quite my luck,
For I could feel my resolve being shook.
He wore a blue three-piece suit and tie,
Something I usually cannot abide,
Yet with him I found that I could not deny,
A deep respect in him did reside.
It seemed he reached some new decision,
And with striking precision,
Rose from his chair and with a sense of mission,
Wandered towards me.
He indicated towards a nearby seat,
I nodded and he spoke “It is a pleasure to meet,
I have come because I have a simple question.”
He noted my hesitation at his notion,
And laughed, his head rolling in a entrancing motion.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s nothing serious,
Though I’ll not lie, it’s quite mysterious,
I can tell you are somewhat curious,”
Indeed, this broke the usual sense of the monotonous.
I nodded again and he offered his proposition,

“Perhaps it pains you personally,
To perceive the poverty pounding at the people perchance,
But ponder that if you possessed power to persuade the powerful,
I put to you that potentially you would put aside personal philosophies,
Phasing like politicians and policemen into the pleasurable place,
A peacefully placid point of preference,
Petrified of panic and pandemonium.
Would you pacify and pander to the people,
Or play politics with a similar poker face,
Pleasing or passionate, paving a path with pace,
Please, would you present your position on this problem?”