What Would Buddha Say? - April 5

The Buddhists had an urn, some tins
of cakes and when you shuffled out
of class across the concrete floor, nuns
would offer you a cup of tea, a bun.
Their robes the colour of arterial blood
heads shaved. They'd given up all
worldly goods, owned nothing but
their smiles and some warm socks
because they rose at five to meditate.
Slowly the place was finished off.
Planed smooth and painted pale
as Peace. The floors red carpeted
and then the tea room with its
trestle tables was tiled white, a bar
installed and there in pride of place
- Italian coffee by machine that swooshed
out steam to foam the milk. They
charged and volunteer baristas
took orders for Panini. The smiles
were somehow the shape of profit.
Now I don't go.