The 4 o’clock drive thru line at Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon
Line 1:
Behind the old man with a sixty thousand dollar jaguar, she
waits.
Members only jacket, a tire fills with air.
Gritting, his sharp yellow teeth match Ralph Lauren shirt.
She wonders what a man driving a sixty thousand dollar car
can be so upset about.
Later:
The car drinks its own milk, purring and content.
Happy as its owner who doesn’t rush to fill her day with
nicotine and energy drinks
Instead, the driver sits deep in the woods of Montana
feeding sticks into a fire,
Waiting for the speaker to ask its questions with muffled
voice and purposeful pleasantries
She fishes and watches baseball games in dugouts constructed
of synapses,
Electrical impulses whisk her away to the Middle Ages- all
monk robes, dirty sex, chain link and wood.
An impatient honk forces her up two inches.
Scribbling thoughts as she tosses two ripped dollars into
the tip jar, happy to pay for the pleasure of waiting, the man behind the
counter wants to appease her
“Busy scribbling, so busy” he remarks. “Oh yes, very busy”
she says, relaxed.
and wonders if anyone notices
How warm it is in the car with the afternoon sun beating
down through the windshield
Breaking the freezing wind outside
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