Brake by Samuel Armen

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.