Poetry?

Here's a poem I wrote about our Coffee Klatch when we occupied the window of the last coffee shop. It's the only poem I've ever written, and I'm not really sure it even qualifies as poetry. It certainly does not rhyme, but is a bit obscure, and has a certain rhythm. If you want to know what I'm referring to in any line, you will have to come in and ask.

Coffee Klatch


First Tim
Or me
Later, Bob, Tom, Babe, or maybe the chief
Snickerdoodle, French Roast, decaf, or strong
What's new Wilma?
Crazy, tragic, mostly mundane
Four men or five
Not yet Codgers
But soon
Our seats are assigned
Not really
Chairs second hand from a funeral parlor
Wing backs
Mine to the right
It reclines
Why?
Bob to the left
Tim and Tom across
Latecomers and casuals pull one up
We talk
Politics, religion, sports,
Women
Lecherous old fools
Opinionated, stubborn, loud,
Frustrated
I'm of the left, Bob the right
I jab
Bob Grimaces
Tim deliberates
Tom announces the price of oil
Customers come in
A latte, decaf, jet engine takes off
A cappuccino
Herb
No time to stop
Solving the world's problems?
Laughs
Gone
Big breasts walk by
Talk stops
Resumes
Wow!
Time to go
It's almost eight
See you tomorrow
Have a good day