9:00 a.m.

It’s 9:00 a.m. 

Chairs pushed back –

Five comrades, arms folded,

Sitting ‘round in contemplative silence.


Slowly widening,

Gradually aging,

Slightly balding,

Their faces carved

From years of living.


Baseball caps,

Whiskered cheeks, steel toes,

Gravelly voices that rise and fall.

Their eyes are crinkled, ever squinting.


Coffee cups turn cold

As stories stretch from inch to mile;

Friendships formed over morning news,

And tried over Saturday hockey.


One by one they rise,

The plates are stacked,

Parting jibes exchanged,

Baseball caps pulled down,

Their chairs are emptied,

Till tomorrow.

~ Ilana Reimer


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