Breakfast at the Utopia Cafe

A little girl's face rises slowly over the table
Like a harvest moon, her eyes magnified
By enormous glasses. She chews with gusto,
Her mouth free and open. Her attention is
Momentarily
Arrested by the old man tip-typing on his laptop
In the corner. He nods gravely at her. She stares,
Athena in bulging-eyed owl shape,
Her floodlight gaze picking out
Every odd distortion that age has laid on him,
Every wrinkle, the queer way pink scalp shows through
His thin white hair: she turns urgently to her mother
To make a request concerning syrup.