two sweet and lows

the woman
makes me coffee. two sweet and lows?
she says
in her sweet voice.

i'm from the phillipines, she says,
tipping
her man's hat

as she shuffles in her pink
slippers to
the kitchen.

she's beautiful in her old age.
browned
and wrinkled.

a glint of humor, a smidgen
of a life lived
still in her eyes.

behave, I tell her when I leave
for the day.

I only behave when i'm asleep she
says to me,

then waves. tomorrow I make
you coffee

again.

sure, I tell her. two sweet and
lows.