She watches with fascination as the barista
pushes the cup across the counter
with an air of superiority
and wonders what quality of character
must be present to maintain
such perfect posture.
Hollow in the middle
she lights a cigarette to fill the space.
Squints her eyes
to blur the people on the street
and the skyline
into one steady stream of color.
She straightens the newspaper
the napkin
the spoon resting beside the cup
makes a small circle with her lips
and blows the ashes
off the table and onto the sidewalk.
Shifts in a chair
meant to please the eye
but not the ass
and wonders again
about the barista and her cool blue pose.
She touches the milk drying on the spoon
and wishes she’d stayed home.
The steady stream of customers
has erased her from the picture
creating an empty outline where her body should be.
She swallows and wonders if the coffee
looks like a black river
zigzagging a path through her country.
She stubs out her cigarette and stands
stepping over the rope
and through the invisible barrier
that separates the walkers
and the sitters.
