Déjà Vu

Day after day they come here
to a local café on a street
corner, sharing their madness
with anyone who's willing
or able to listen,
their fragmented lives
glued together by cigarettes
and coffee, at times
stoned, drunk or hung-over,
at times tired, sad and
desperate, staggering
as they enter through the
door with "best coffee, great
cookies and friendly folks"
written above it--
a great haven for street
artists and drug dealers,
mad and unrecognized geniuses,
would-be writers, poets, musicians,
painters and philosophers--
drugged-out, bummed-out,
burnt out, freaked-out,
messed up, disheveled
or simply cracked, staring
blankly into space or wild
and delusional, gesticulating
and explaining, elaborating on
something significant and
important:  "Just listen you,
someone, anyone, just listen!"
And the silence laughs in their faces
with its dark and hellish laughter...
"If you're not going to drink,
then get out!" says the owner
to a vagrant in a dingy coat.
And the silence laughs in their faces...
 

                               February 23, 1992
                            --Alexander Shaumyan