pm poetry

To the man behind 

the pastry case, 

dawning joy on your 

beaming face, 

you are out of place 

in this cityscape, 

where gray suites wait 

in queues that snake 

to board buses 

and delayed trains. 

One toasted cinnamon, 

two coffees, 

and one toasted 

poppyseed, 

(both bagels heaped 

with cream cheese- 

please.) 

You know our order 

by heart these days 

and never let us 

fully pay. 

Laughter, 

warm words, 

and a firm handshake. 

It’s never a purchase; 

it’s always 

a trade.