In the untidy mess of the kitchen,
I find two yellow cards
marked for coffees taken
at the Honeypot; one card
just needs one more stamp.
Coffee shops closed- no pots
of honey for thee or me
when the clock stands at four or three.
Conversations suspended, friendships upended-
and no pots of honey for the bear.
In the distance outside a noisy crow jars
its tuneless note, insistent from its throat.
In search of lost time and Madeline to dip
lost feeling between cup and lip
and just Nescafe to sit and sip.
Suspended- no connection and no connection
just the feeling of trouble
brewing.
With grateful thanks to https://www.facebook.com/thehoneypotpz
penwithlit 