Coffee shops deliver, you know,
Danish and java or a sloppy joe
To auto owners sitting daintily,
Patiently, Buddha-like, even saintily,
While traffic agents make their way
Down the block in a morality play
Punishing those on the wrong side
Of the street where legal parking's denied.
Breakfast customers await
Buttered rolls at a twice-weekly rate
Leaning on the steering wheel
Of their Corvette, a sight in brushed steel,
BMW, Caddy or Ferrari,
Cars that never leave drivers sorry.
Breakfast for them takes an hour and a half,
Until it's safe to finish their 'caf
And make it opposite in a 10-second glide--
Only there, on the Upper West Side.
