How to Make the Perfect Cup of Coffee
by Sue Small


First, you point your key fob
At your giant, shiny SUV
And press the button. The click
Of doors unlocking like the bolt
Action on the chamber of a gun.
You climb up into your fortress on wheels
All hardened curves of metal and fat cleated tires
And pull your vehicle out into a stream
Of ceaseless traffic, nudging and bumping along
No one is a tall as you or as big as you feel
The hood of your SUV so steroidal
As to hide small passing animals from your view
Children even.

The parking lot not designed
For someone of your caliber.
You nose in, flip your cell phone shut
And cut the engine. Your DKNY bag
Looped over you arm, you descend
To the hot pavement, pointed foot
Stretching toward the ground
Oh so powerful, a cowboy dismounting
His just broken steed.

Oh yeah, baby, you can walk
In that Starbucks and feel deserving
Of any of those rich treats and pretty bags
Of black, black beans handpicked just for you
By little people so far away from where you live
They’re microscopic.






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