Cafe

Sitting in the town cafe, I notice
that it seems to serve two customers;
the people who enter through the front doors,
and the birds who fly in through the windows.

But the birds always appear suddenly.
I never see them waiting on the pane;
they just immediately flutter in.
the time is always the same every day.

bus arrives, then I walk to the cafe,
set up my laptop, and give my order.
Mother and child enter. Call to prayer
from the mosque across the street starts the day.

Shadows inside the mosque window rise, fall,
rise and fall, rise and fall, again, again,
the bird flies in, breaks my concentration.
I turn to the mosque; the shadows are still.

Turning back to the bird, I watch as it
ticks its beak against the white tile,
pecking at pieces of bread. All the while,
the men, finishing prayer, fill each seat.

The cafe grows louder from men's voices.
I unplug my laptop, prepare to go.
As I leave, I look out at the window.
A bird flies in and sits where I once was.