Coffee Light

Coffee Light
By Sherri London Pastolove

The air is thick with
the scent of old coffee,
greasy French fries,
wet umbrellas.
His eyelids sag
under the weight of another long shift,
just one more hour.

And then he sees her—
coffee light, one sugar;
jet black locks,
so neatly swept to the side,
lushly lidded eyes.
He shifts his weight,
and stands tall
to meet her early morning smile.

She laughs as she orders,
he is already filling the cup;
she reaches for her wallet,
his heart beats fast
as he waits for her
eyes to meet his.
He puts down the cup
as she holds out crisp bills,
and his hand lightly
touches hers.

A moment suspended
and then his boss bellows,
“Wake up! Can’t you see the line?”
She takes the cup, the change,
smiles, and turns—
he wishes he knew her name.
He would close his eyes,
and say it over and over,
his Miss Early Morning,
Coffee Light.

Sherri London Pastolove is a LI poet and the author of Love in D Major.