Their coffee cups drum
a monotonous rhythm
on canteen tables. Heads
hook over dual newspapers
they periodically peer up at flat
screen news. Their neck wrinkles
merge into crumpled kagool hoods.
All slim pickings and colorless food,
swallow it down with avian gulps.
Aging together on plastic chairs,
morning glory coffee escapes
and trickles from cracked lips.
Their talk tastes like the resentment
of two thousand wet weekends.
They return to staring damply,
muscles hang like stewed meat.
All badly upholstered skin and
etch-a-sketch teeth.
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