Sipping dreams they huddle in tight groups corralled in logo scratched canvas pens.
Chrome pole barriers mark the next box in line, heads dip and nod into cappuccinos...comparing.
Another strip,canvas red competes with wines raised in silent toast.
Next, one with world teas, black and sharp like the smoke exhaled that catches the slow bus passing by, the top deck onlookers detached from the scene.
From a yellow pen, coughs and sighs as newspapers turn in the breeze.
Blue canvas flaps a curse, a drink is spilled, the call for another.
On and on the pen line runs, corporate colours jousting for attention.
Last in line the sad cafe.
A blank canvas, rusting poles tilt at broken flags reflecting the spillage.
Three for the price of one, the offer tasteless for sipping dreams.