This morning the coffee is something special : an imported blend : cuban, the barista says : he says chocolatey : then he says something else : about the flavour, I think : by then I’m not listening : or I’m struggling to listen : or I’m trying to listen instead to a thought I’m having : or almost having : or about to have : & there’s too much happening : all at once : the barista talking : & the coffee machine humming : & the unground beans there : in the grinder : on the countertop : cuban : as if in evidence : & there’s a clamouring of voices from the concourse behind me : & a cool gust that blows in : between the pillars : from the station : hints of sparrow : a top note of transient light.
This poem appeared in Volume I of Agony.