Wednesday, March 22, 2017

vincent

what's your name,
she asks,
holding the empty
coffee cup up in the air,
a torch to be filled.
she has a sharpie
pen to scribble my name
across the
white curve of the thick
paper cup. (recycled)
jimmy.
I tell her, then say no,
joe.
let's go with joe today.
I feel like
just an ordinary joe.
I can see my reflection
in the toaster over
across the counter,
my plaid shirt buttoned
nearly to the top.
she crosses out jimmy
and writes joe. are you
sure? she says.
wait, I tell her, let
me think for a second.
how about Vincent.
I put a napkin up to my
ear
and hold it there.
I purposely look forlorn
and heartbroken.
but she doesn't get it.
okay, Vincent, she says,
pushing a blue strand of hair
away from her eyes.
she writes Vincent
on the cup
and takes my money.

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