Gradie's Cafe is where I have read most of my 'New Beat' poetry. A young crowd, from the nearby High School and College, where I attended way back when. They either are extremely polite or actually enjoy my 'New Beat' poetry.

GRADIE'S CAFE'

by Roger W Hancock

A Tuesday, day before hump day, just off work, a call to the wife to say I’ll be late. A poem’s been brewing, stewing, time for a visit, take some notes and catch whatever inspiration vibes awaits my creativity. Becoming evening half way home, across from the Mandarin Lounge, the Rail Tavern with Ballet on one side; vacant store on the other on downtown stretch of Auburn’s Main Street is a small café. Open seven days ‘till eight, six o’clock on Sunday except of course for Thursday night. Sitting on black upholstered cushioned chair at not a round but a small square table. Along both sides of the entryway, where once would have been the store displays, boosted bar with prior tavern stools align the storefront windows.

Looking around for the spark, observing seeking, poem’s inspiration way. At the till the cashier - slash - waiter, a young man in long red tie tending change serving patron’s appetites. Through the old store door strolls a lady slowing wandering, upon her face wearing expression of pleased wonderment, selecting a small round table sits down to study cafe’s menu board. Display of plaques, seemingly of Roman style arranged to the left on one wall, beside and around the shop hang paintings of various styles by local artist to give the place a visual beat. Baseball capped youth at Rhodes keyboard, obviously not a usual gig, on the keys limbered fingers adlibbing soothing flowing tune one might call a mellow jazz. Against the western wall rarely played an old upright piano, I think it’s made of cherry wood, remembering last week it played a honky-tonk tune.

Long hair, short cuts, clientele of ages all, long dark coats or dressed up ties, all invited to buy a latté, enjoy. Salads, bagels, sandwiches just some selections on the menu board. Above the counter where the menu hangs a museum of owner’s interests, snow board, surf boards, unicycles four, models of airplanes, Godzilla, broken balsa wood, and oh my, a straight jacket… I dare not ask, in conversation he says he always wanted one.

A visual creativity; atmosphere of times gone by, a look and feel old as nearby hardware store, Cavanaugh’s. A bicyclist peddles up dressed in… of course he’s the man in blue, no donuts here perhaps still with a hole, a bagel? The ‘Man’ orders a B.L.T. to go.

On a Thursday night at open mike reminiscent of past time’s coffee houses, is where I first made an appearance to this quaint café. Audience of few varied ages mostly young from nearby Auburn High or GRCC the college on the hill, chatting waiting for the next performing piece. Some to play their instruments others sing theirs or other’s songs the better ones apologizing for piece composed having critiqued, themselves. Me, the old man with poems written hoping the young to hear the message within to show a way, cured with youth now aged. Young and old to each a purpose, to each within creative talent, searches for their creative way here in this quaint café.

Remember that young man I said with the long red tie, the cashier, because of him on Thursday night this open mike, he’s the proprietor, the man behind the sign, Gradie’s Café.

Roger W Hancock © 10-30-2002 www.FoolBay.com