bitter coffee

so she’s standing there— 

in vaulted two-storey morning light

Bratz Doll Angel engulfed by 

Redemption coffee shop’s bustling glory

ass as tight as a peach

the contour of her muscled thighs
showcased by a definite size six

boot-cut black yoga pants draped over

platform Docs topped with a brightly-colored

cap-sleeve and she’s me 

with her brown velvet skin but

pulling two six-foot military types

summer-bronzed with white-washed teeth

and her, her pert little cotton-puff puffytails

antigravity boobs and nature-approved collagen 

cheeks fit for a plastic surgeon’s lucid dreams

and me, me with my reading glasses and pinched

eyes peering over the rolled paper rim of a hot latte sucking 

air between foaming lips wondering what’s she got

that I haven’t except thirty years hard fought filling up

the width of this damn chair as great. big. fat. rolls of 

cream cheese ooze over the edge of 

my toasted everything bagel buns

and I take an enormous bite—