Sunset Knoll

When the smoking hot barrista
      Pushes my toasted bagel across the counter to me
Without so much as a glance

Because all her pistils and stamens and sweet
      Pink petals are on orange alert
For the punker next to me, Armaggedon
      Tattooed on his arms, and furthermore

She's even forgotten the cream cheese,
      Because I've reached the age
When I'm, like, totally invisible to her,

I briefly consider
      Picking up the plate and smashing it
Through the countertop, sending a rain
      Of glass onto the teabiscuits and cinnamon scones.

That'd show her, all right.

Then I remember
      My summer as a feeder

In that nursing home back in L.A.,
      Spooning whipped ham into the mouth-holes
Of those bedridden husks of papier mâché.

How sometimes the old guys would pull out
      Their dentures and throw them across the room
Just for the hell of it, just to remind me
      I'm still here, you little shit.

So,

      Thanks, I say
And walk back to my table.

      Like I needed the cream cheese anyway.

Copyright © 2008 George Bilgere All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission