In a room as silent as the sagging floor,
a room of students, whispering and pages
my friend talking is too loud.

The coffee comes in white cups
but walls are brushing bright ochre
under comics framed along them.

4 sets of fan blades hang
the helicopter inside-out
a story up,
the blades airlining us,
the sofa puffy.

Someone in the toilet
beckons a shorthair dame
to flare a nostril;
but most of all the brew in

our listening press is decaf and antic,
and we have 2 cups to
wonder how stillness tastes good

at Murky Coffee.