COFFEE LINE
The coffee line in front of me
as I wait for milk to reach
the right temperature.
It will be cold where I’m
going, snowflakes like sequins
pressed to the scarf.
In the coffee line
I see his gold tooth
glisten with his happiness.
It is then that I want to
steal it, show him the transparent
look of sadness.
Leaving behind the coffee line
I unravel everything.
He is thinking about paella
and language. I am planning
my escape, but no matter
how much I undo
there is always more to bind me.
Another coffee line
in breaks from the library,
studying Apollinaire.
I wish I still had those pages,
responsible for my unraveling.
Put the pieces together.
I am no longer trudging through snow,
foaming milk.