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2 0 Y C A F É D U S O I R T I M O T H Y S T E E L E Two young men at a sidewalk table – Heads bowed, hands cupped before them – use Their thumbs to summon from their smartphones Tweets, texts, apps, games, and breaking news. They don’t so much as nod or murmur; High tech’s enchantments hold them fast. Around them, though, the warm spring evening Retains links to the low-tech past. Birds share songs viva voce: networks In curbside trees still serve them well. Dogs leashed to humans friend each other Primarily by sense of smell. A slate-faced sandwich board announces The café’s fare in cursive chalk, And the black-aproned, slick-haired waiters Look fresh out of the Belle Époque. The young men, too, compose an image Within which eras overlap. Opposite one another, bending To screens they lightly swipe and tap, They conjure men who, after workdays, Released from docks, plants, shops, and yards, Would rest their forearms on such tables And sort and ponder hands of cards. ...

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