But as the hours tick on the café
and the grease smeared clock reads 8am,
the office workers and long distance drivers
trickle out the window door on their way.

Leaving a few locals at tea stained tables
and the pleasantries passed between
waitress and customer vary like birdsong;
coming from hip high oak trees
with year old tea stained age rings.

As the same early morning server
refills my mug of scorching brew,
a gaggle of not so fresh faced school girls
with their orange complexions
and skirts so short they're only just visible
whirl like a tornado into our midst.

Oblivious to the established order of customers
they barge to buy their bacon butties
and charred sausage sandwiches;
with achingly high pitched tones they ask
for more brown sauce and ketchup.

Then giggling and shrieking they too
exit the café door and with a tinkle of a bell
and a few sighs of relief they're gone.