Third Street Stuff
The cool kids hang at the coffee shop
Themselves, their signs
At least, they did in those days
And the signs do, still
Or the one does—Bobby, Bobby
The We miss you hidden beneath the ink
Bobby, Bobby—We miss you
I wonder if I did
When I slunk into the coffee shop
Hoping to catch coolness from their eddies
Was some of it from him,
On his way out as I entered?
Bobby, Bobby—We miss you
I wonder if they do
There, at the coffee shop
Now that the other kids are grown
Cool kids, sign writers
Myself, the baristas
Kids still, just college-aged
Who’d seemed to us already grown
Who all is left, now,
From those simpler days?
When the cool kids hung at the coffee shop
Themselves, their signs
6 thoughts on "Third Street Stuff"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
I like how the coffee shop serves as a container of memory. It’s also interesting to me how you portray the signs as objects that hold grief. The ghost of a figure named Bobby is doing a lot of work here as well. Thank you for sharing!
This poem makes me realize that Third Street Stuff is a coffee shop I’ve occasionally frequented for almost twenty years now. Truly container of memory, as Jeremy said, a container of stories, and intimate reminder of the concept of sonder. I have no idea who Bobby is, but he clearly meant something.
This: “When I slunk into the coffee shop
Hoping to catch coolness from their eddies”— Love it!
Beautiful poem made even more poignant by the shop’s recent closing. Thank you, Lauren!
Wonderful tribute to a unique place! Thanks!
Full of lovely nostalgia…I like the repetition, and the sparse form.