? SLAB | Sound & Literary Art Book

Issue 9

Poetry

Chuck Kramer


Little Owl

The Little Owl on Bedford
Street in the Village welcomes
diners for breakfast on
this chill, sunny morning
with a velvet red smile and
the humid, rich fragrance of
espresso and sausage and
hollandaise sauce oozing
over poached eggs.

Across the street hordes of
tourists line the sidewalk
with avid squints and excited,
flashing cameras, a
wall of haunted faces
packed tight,
overwhelmed by the
brick façade of the
Owl’s building which
once appeared as the exterior
of a sitcom’s hip, NY apartment.
The yearning faces, scarved
and gloved and hatted, stand
wide-mouthed, hungry for
connection with once-a-week,
fictional friends, nourishing
fragile, famished identities
with electronic memory,
while inside the Owl, diners
gorge on apple jelly and
croissants, chattering with friends
across the table as they smile
and order more coffee.