Coffee

you said, ‘black, no sugar’
as I sat there wondering
was it me or your coffee?
i waited for your words
but you mocked me with your silence
with your hand on the cup
holding it dearly . . .
the way you hadn’t held me at all . . .

i tried to look you straight in the eye
but you bowed down for another sip
is it hot? did it burn?
the way your cold gaze burns a hole in me
do you want me here at all?
or should I leave . . .
. . . leave you with your coffee and
your dreams . . .
of what you want . . .
and what i’m not
. . . and what I can’t give
you’re running out of coffee . . .

good.

i better leave.


April 2001

(Arizona, illustration by david lupton)