Tag Archives: barista

New Year’s Day



there was a question I wanted to ask the barista

the one with the sharp elbows, tattooed forearms

cleopatra eyes

and ink black pig-tail that stuck out straight

who instinctively knew I pinched pennies

and did not take offense

who had somehow gathered a world of worldliness into her thin body

more than I could ever hope for

and a light-fingered humanity come from scraping by and making do

who knew how to be a type without a crack

still, I wondered what there was when the eye-makeup came off

the question doesn’t matter anymore

“what would you have been in 1908?”

and I?