A lady asks for another shot of espresso – too much milk

Please stop talking, I’m going to lose this all, words tromping through my brain, the words I’ve been running over on the walk over and rushing to the computer and now you want to know about my weekend and the party, what party oh that party and it was great, good food, nice place, OK where was I:

Reefer on the square. High, 10 am. Breezes feel like sex this way, enhanced, real fingers by your ear. Still, no one touches you. 3 men on park benches trying to hide. Shouldn’t this be legal by now? I don’t care about the magic bus selling tacos, I want to remember all these people. I was opened to more life in an hour this morning than 8 hours staring at a computer. Why am I doing this and not this again? The modern-day milkman confused and counting gallons, the old man collecting coins from a meter.
The couple at a neighboring table, declined a two-bedroom apartment. “What’s the market-value of a one bedroom?” he inquires feigning real-estate lingo.
While a couple breaks outside the coffee-shop window. The way he caught up to her, caught her, how his face fell and broke in angles. The way she annoyingly pulled the headphones from her ear, the way she turned her back and he caught her bag. The speech I watched silently, her resolute foot wiggling. Time to go, it said, time to go.
And passing was a young girl in a tight yellow tank top dangling a cigarette between fake nails. Brown hair slick in a tight braid, yellow hoop earrings. She checked her figure in the reflection of 4 doors. Walked overly-sexual to a beat from her ipod. Bounced bang bounced.
The 13-year-old black boy strolling next to a man, his father perhaps. The boy awkwardly fingering a Black and Mild, pulling smoke to his lips like he’d never kissed a girl. All lips, no tongue, no smooth, no experience.
I keep hearing my boyfriend say “posture,” the weight of a book bag, years of bad habits. When I was younger mean boys called me a hunchback. We are all disfigured. Curled toes, rotting teeth, clubbed, crab-like fingers that never learned to reach. I learned to hide, to polish yellow teeth.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized, wandering mind. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

 

Valid XHTML Strict and CSS