Poetry Research + Coffee Shop =

Somehow, sitting in a coffee shop trying to write a classroom research paper on poetry resulted in a poem about what I was observing in the coffee shop. Gee, that was productive. I'm in the library now and have had only slightly better results with the paper.

No title yet and ripe for revision:

Late mornings, after small hands are clean and soft
wisps of hair brushed through bright barrettes or patted down,
and baby-powdered feet are snuggled in unscuffed Keds,
mothers crave the world and crowd the coffee shop.

Still new to existence (some were not here last year), the stroller set
hobnobs, accessorized by booster seats and bottles, they breathe
espresso air and straw-slurp juice from lidded plastic cups
while moms, who have waited all week for adult contact,
fall into plush plaid couches and conversation, discussing
conscientious tuna fishing over chai lattes and raspberry scones.

When only drops of juice swirl at the bottoms of the cups,
unreachable by straws even for the strongest slurpers,
and grilled cheese-greased fingers smudge glass tables,
the mothers call and respond: Who can put on their own shoes?
I can, I can. They desire their children's independence,
restrict it in the next breath: Don't you go out there by yourself, don't you go

out there by yourself. Which, of course, someday they will,
eschewing the world of Keds and barrettes
long after they've made a decision on today's vital question:
Do you like looking at the world through the purple glass or the pink?

[the "don't you go" of the third stanza is supposed to be together on that last line]