First—you need
coffee—
steam-
sighing quick but
discreetly from smart
white cups
of
baked earth enameled,
which sit nested
cleanly—on equally
simple but
pretty glossed saucers
atop blank public counters,
perfectly level—
that blush at intervals
according
to the equally spaced soft and and slow-
wheeling purr and shimmer—
of several canny overhead
ceiling fan/Edison
lightbulb combination fixtures,
which background
adroitly and with
good mercy—the morning's manageable smatter
of sallow discolored faces
of customers;
then—after
that—you can
finally
write
something
clever.
