Morning snowflakes clot the air,
rest in the nook of an old fedora.
The shop doors are still locked.
A red sweater.Blue eyes glance
and a wool coat closes.
The sun hides behind a grey veneer
and a man hesitates
The last leaf on an elm tree
holds on beneath the ice.
A rhythmic clap of soles
ceases before the closed sign.
He pulls the brim down
to stop the wind.
press on papers inside a pocket.
Closed, coffeeless morning.