Cary Briel

Little people,
I say. Definitely
not bigger than the poor who
streak
and smudge my window,
as I fly
up Adams Street toward caffeination.
It’s eyes straight ahead
if I catch the light.

Latte– no diacritic.
The smudgers don’t argue.
Grande.
That’s ‘medium’ to the smudgers.
No foam.
Whole milk.
Decaf–
hmmm.
Well, only if Chris is judging me with her eyes.