Coffee

Today I was invited
for coffee.
Words come to mind

boy
sophisticated
art
pretentious

All of these fit
the who
the where
but not the why.
And all of it proves that
none of it is relevant.

I need to learn to take my coffee straight
or drink chai tea.
Mochas that used to be
so good
leave a bad taste in my mouth
from the superior looks of
hardcore
espresso drinkers.

There is
art,
though not the kind I’m used to,
sophistication,
that I never knew existed,
pretension,

that I can easily ignore—even admire,

and boy.
There is boy
and he has glanced at me once
for every ten stares of mine.

There is girl, as well
Smokey-eyed
and small-breasted;
Au naturale
and cinnamon skin,

the same color as my rejected drink;

Piercings
With a little skin peeking through

and I wonder who she is and if she knows I wonder;

There is fat
a hunk a chunk a bundle
of skin taking up the space of two;
and He has a friend—
better looking than Him,
but is the friend’s smile wider?
is the friend’s laugh sweeter?

does the friend’s face say more than His words?

Did His friend ask me to tag along?

The conversation goes around
skipping me each time
but I don’t mind laughing along
biding my time
until I can interject a word that is

hilarious
witty
poetic
ice-breaking
uncovering

me.

They will discover me through the steam
of their collective breaths
and laughs
and black, bitter drinks
and they will love irreplaceable,
irresistible

me.

Author's Note: I'm trying out a new style. I've read quite a few books lately that have used it - telling a story through poetry-type prose (if that's accurately explaining it), and i'd like to give it a shot.

There will be quite a few entries. This is by no means the last one, but I've decided to separate them, for effect more than anything else. :)

Thank you for reading. Reviews, especially those containing criticism, but otherwise, as well, are really, very appreciated.

And, yes, I am comma-happy.

Julia.