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2012-11-08T15:54:26-05:00November 8th, 2012|Musings on life|

The melancholic barista

He wears his face in that way
that makes him look
like it’s a considerable effort
to be alive

the kind of man-boy
you can’t imagine what he wore
before they invented
hoodies

his hair flops over his eyes
like an oily pelt

his Adam’s apple
pointy as an elbow
makes him look like those snakes
that swallow pigs

I do today
what I always do

I try to make him smile

but I can tell he thinks
I’m bourgeois
or just beyond the barrier
into the gauzy land
of older people

I leave a big tip
but he doesn’t seem to notice

later I notice him talking
to the girl who was behind me in line

I hope he thinks the tip was from her
which makes me realize
this is the kind of mother I’ll be
savagely arranging his happiness
no matter how far
he holds me
out of reach.

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