Coffee in Reykjavik
The fire and ice sit atop water
smooth like glass on days of grey.
Ragged and wild every other day.
Travelling over mountain and volcano
winds flow across the land and sea
to breeze up the Kárastígur to me.
I order cappuccino and say takk.
A staple order for a coffee stop.
I gently clang my cup back into saucer,
and write more pages to an empty cup.
It's calm for a moment, the steamer heats
the milk for cappuccino to guests
who glide in with loud voices
American sound rises above the rest.
I take the quiet route and slide back
in my notebook, jotting words in mind.
Observing and enjoying the coffee vibe
and hurried figures passing to find.
(At Reykjavik Roasters on Kárastígur)
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