Even from the minds of babes

In a veritably empty bookstore cafe
on a Thursday afternoon in February,
I sat on one of the four brown chairs,
my books at the table beside me,
and read poetry by an older man.

After the grandmother and daughter
purchased pops and a chocolate milk
for the granddaughter, they chose the table
closest to the four brown leather chairs.

I think that maybe the silver couple
beside me may have been more endeared
to the mother who nodded her head
when she asked, "Want apple? Want milk?"

And I couldn't get over my impression
that even the perhaps six year old knew
she'd be better-suited to sit at the table
than the fourth brown leather cushy chair
that the tatooed grandmother offered her.