The Coffee Cart

Knocks on the door, pokes on the belly

Parents’ tired eyes wince as their children’s eyes cry

We aren’t the first to barge

in before the sun

and we won’t be the last

Close behind in the long hall

A gentler spirit pushes a squealing car through:

“Some coffee, Mom?”

“With cream and two sugars, right Dad?”

“How about some snacks? No? Well, take some for later.

You have to eat.”

And onto the next set

of parents curled

up on the couch

next to an ill child’s bed.