Another Coffee Shop Poem

[Dedicated to Lou Schau. Also to John Briscoe, Tim, Steve, Ed, and Vaughn (aka The Graybeard Round Table). Also to Heather Houzenga.

I am not pretty enough for this place.

The cut of my clothes or my weeks old beard

gives me away. If I didn't have money for coffee

they would shoo me away in spite of the rain.

It doesn't take long for those urbane airs

to rub off; only two and half years

in corn and god country where they do not tolerate

too much polish (except for Sundays,

and even that must be the right kind and cut)

and they do not trust urban attitudes

and they do not forgive when you are not smart enough

to notice the difference.

Two people in line ahead of me.

Most of the tables are occupied

and I spy one empty seat:

one of the coffee leather chairs

in the corner. A business man

with next generation's iphone

and designer eye wear takes it first...

laying claim to it by laying his

expensive looking brief case

(also leather) before he

takes a place behind me in line.

If I am very lucky,

the barista will get his order wrong.

But I am not lucky, since she is too perky

to be incompetent.

The first one, a large woman in stretch pants,

pays in cash

• exact change –

The skinny bitch in designer shoes behind her

taps her foot impatiently. When it's her turn, she steps up

quickly orders coffees with too many qualifiers

(half caf decaf slim skin super latte with a mother fuckin' twist)

pays with plastic, then moves forward. We have learned, have we not,

the way the conveyor belt works...

I step up, order a medium coffee

with an espresso shot, pay, step to the right. Skinny Designer Bitch

is waiting on a multiple order and his hogging the small round counter

with the cardboard coffee cup cozies.

My coffee is done before her order.

So that I do not burn my fingers,

I am forced to growl “Excuse me”

before I reach in front of her

to grab a cozy. (She looks up horrified,

briefly grabs her expensive purse

for fear I might steal it, use her

husband's credit cards

to order a breakfast sandwich.

She storms out not long after.

By the time I turn around,

a table has opened up,

and I sit down, trying to avoid eye contact.

There's only so much I can put up with

before the coffee kicks in.