Coffee Shop Textures

Scuffed wooden bench catches the back pockets of my blue jeans 
as I slide into the booth
Sticky spot on the table's surface 
evades the cleaner's lick and a promise approach
A crooked fork tine gently stabs my lip 
unless I carefully place the syrup drenched waffle 
directly into my mouth
Disintegrating paper napkins cling to my fingers
rather than sop up any of the spilled coffee 
from the overflowing saucer set down by the waiter
The mostly cooked bacon
reflects the overhead lights
 in a glycerin pool of its own making
The greasy steam from the kitchen
coats my face like a food laden sauna
The crinkly dollars refuse to fold smoothly
so the people behind me in line shift impatiently
from foot to foot while I fumble
to put my billfold into my purse.