barista, barista;

He has my coffee ready before I walk

Up to order

Watches me click no tip

On the card reader

I don’t tip on the credit card

When I get a pour-over

In a cup of ice

­

I’m the single-knotted shoelace

Speedy in transactions here—

I think he blinks three

Maybe four times in the time it takes

For cost & collection

­

But first hits me with the giddiest,

Most sarcastic “thank you!” that

Might as well have come with

A twirl and a shooting star flying

Out of his ass

­

I dig a couple singles out

Of my wallet

Place them in the tip jar

And spend an extra second or two

Plunging the mass, the mess of money

He’d already gone to the back room

The sink is rushing & rinsing

­­

I’m reading Kafka’s

Metamorphosis

Can’t stop thinking about the

Non-tip/tip

I’m going to tip him again

­

“Want a refill to go?”

I had stopped reading part-way

Through In the Penal Colony

“I’d love that, thank you!”

­

I’m digging another two bills out

Ready to show that I just don’t

Tip on the credit card

When I get a pour-over

In a cup of ice

­

I stick the bills amongst the others

Plunge the stack again

It’s as freeform an in-sight cache

As it’ll be before the day wraps up

I look up and smile

­

His rear side smiles back

I nearly dodge a shooting star

To the head

There are dozens of smiling faces

On his green bandana

­­

The barista thinks I’m a cheap asshole

He’s wrong

I’m just broke, and really bad with

Timing when my character’s rich