It's peaceful here,
Among the rustling pages,
The shakes of the coffee maker,
The shouts of the waitresses.

It's quiet here,
Though children run wild
And chatter is abundant
And the phones ring off the hook.

It's not-quite-lonely here.
No reason to answer my cell phone,
Or to act a certain way,
Or to talk to anyone at all.

It's beautiful here, too,
Though trash litters tables,
Though words are placed on display,
And price tags announce the latest auction.

It's perfect here,
At this corner table,
Surrounded by a coffee shop aroma,
In a bookstore by a mall.

It's the perfect place to hide from chaos.