God at a Coffee Shop

God at a Coffee Shop

That man with the neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard

Sitting next to the worn leather duffle bag

With his paper and clean white coffee cup

I have decided that he is perfection

There is never a task too complex or a moment too devastating

For that man in his well tailored gray pants

To handle with aplomb and grace

When he rolls up the sleeves of his crisp collared shirt

You can see his worn hands are not afraid of work

But they have never stopped their fixing of clocks

They have never been afraid to hold a baby or pet a dog

Even the dirt under his nails is distinguished

There is always a book in his bag

Almost finished and underlined

There is always the most pointed compliment

Coming from his crocked smile

The women he has loved he has always left the better

But he has always remained in isolation

Weathered and well worn by the comings and goings of his friends

Which are innumerable and loyal to a fault

Always well spoken of, he still seems to always sit alone

One dusty loafer resting on his knee

His thick tortoise shell reading glasses sitting half way down

His once broken beautiful nose

Solitude is the price that you pay for perfection

Too close and you will see the scars on his hands

From bare knuckle boxing the other boys at boarding school

Too close and the gods get crucified

So, the man with the neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard

Sitting next to the worn leather duffle bag

With his paper and clean white coffee cup

I have decided that he is perfection

Because I will never speak to him