Dave Bonta's short poem sets a strange, almost dreamlike scene against an ordinary one. The street is "full of a great forest," and ivy has grown so thickly that it "stops business." Whether this is literal overgrowth or a way of seeing the city as something wild, the image makes the familiar street feel overtaken and quiet.
In the second stanza the speaker slips away to a "discrete" coffee house, a small, unshowy place. The word may also nod to "discreet," which would fit the hidden, low-key feeling. There, "we" take "some out-of-town light / to profit off the morning." The light seems to come from somewhere else, as if the visitors carry a bit of the countryside with them.
The mood is calm, wry, and a little playful. The speaker seems content to retreat from the stalled street, yet the business language of "profit" adds gentle irony, as if even a quiet morning gets put to use. The title, "Hipsters," suggests the poem may be teasing that café-going crowd, and perhaps its own speaker too.