page 24

by beginningstoendings

Oddly enough, the café is busy.  God, people in this city are such losers.  Black clad, rain protected Vancouverites sipping Americanos, soy steamers, vanilla lattes, and munching on gingerbread biscotti and healthy muffins.  I order from what looks like a fetus wearing M.A.C Viva Glam lipstick and a push up bra.  She rolls her eyes at my boring choice of Sumatra (I think it sounds sexy) with room for plenty of cream, and an Urban Apple/Spice muffin.  The duo costs a whopping eight dollars and seven cents.  I ponder whether it’s the muffin or the coffee that is forcing me into bankruptcy and why, for this price, they don’t let you post a picture of yourself on the door stating to the public that you are so cool and rich that you get your coffee from this particular cafe.

Window bar seat.

I pull out my little notebook (a social crutch I keep with me to look intelligent in public) and I start to jot down some poetry that’s been tumbling around in the rotary of my brain for the last few days.

 

How Hatha is your Yoga?  How tantric is your sex? 

Reach your arms around my shoulders, put your hands around my neck

How trendy is your downtown?  How amazing is your chest?

Untie my shoes, unzip my lungs put my breathing to the test.

Think about your free time, think about your past

Hire me at you business and make the time go fast

Do you read the paper?  Do you watch the news?

applaud the Black you saw today, ‘cause he gives you the blues.

You were in my movie, you were…

“Mind if I sit here?”

“In…my…show,” awkward pause.  I just spoke out loud a line of shitty poetry to a total stranger as I was writing it down and I can tell he’s thinking of a way to brush the comment off and sit down before his coffee is cold.

“Uhm, yeah, I prefer the term ‘turf’, or ‘hood’ even but ‘show’?  Never heard that one before.  Works just as good I guess.  I’ll have to write that one down.  No, it’s just there aren’t any seats left and your jacket…” he’s motioning towards my coat on the empty seat beside me and I realize that I can’t multitask.  Thinking and talking simultaneously is far too difficult.  His attempt at being funny was still pretty miserable though, even for a grown-up.

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