Croix Valley Café

Three doughnuts, brown with white
frosted tops, impersonate waitresses
beside a coffee machine's burps. The morning
at seven, is ready for laughter, stories about kids
and Swedish cousins across town.

Yesterday Jim told me, "I can't go to the dentist
today," and I told him, "Your wisdom tooth is bad."
Then he said, "But Mom, I've only missed two days
of school." Then I reminded him that his algebra
was shaky. "I didn't know you were so up
on math, Sally," Florence whispered from a plate
surrounded by toast. "You are just full of surprises,"
Helen added, peeking over a row of Chinese mugs.

Sally's regular arrives, his cigarette smoke intertwines
the coffee steam around a chalkboard's message—
A person who blows his own horn is lost
in the fog. Words from a mystery source—
Reader's Digest, Croix Valley Gazette? Perhaps
Sally's grandmother. No horn is heard, a fog
quietly settles on the Croix Valley Café.