The train above grounds to a stop. Every-
thing shakes; the sweet-n-lows edge away
and fall. Strangers crane their necks to check
if something's off. The coffee strainer chokes a song.
The server calls out my name all wrong. "Here
you go." The milk strains question marks
waning in voids. I try to sip in a way
that says I'm upset with nothing, see?
A year ago, we sat right here to talk
about the passing things so they could slow
down, or so to us it seemed the day
would give us time to sip together in peace.
The train and time have passed this coffee shop—
I wave goodbye to my final grainy drop.