Tables with serviette stations stand
Spaced apart, like livestock grazing linoleum.
The atmosphere is Easter and will be for the next month.
No matter what’s ordered-
The price is around $5.85.
Moving on varicose veins,
Vision tipped with red billed visors,
Dusted in flour, selling Lotto tickets and cigarettes,
The women behind the counter
Could be any body’s grandmother.
Two televisions play soaps and soccer.
An elderly, male audience;
Scratching tickets, drinking Sumol,
Consuming caffeine of heated espresso bean.
I order a black drip and Pasteis de Nata to fit in,
Then reveal my Macbook Pro.
Peer into Davenport, through steel roller shutters
Plants that hardly need water obscure
A riotous display of motorcars and humans.
The ATM: The heart and soul.
The only polished gem.
Built from sole to brow
On egg, salt, sugar, and flour;
Portuguese pastry, deli meat, and cheese.
Duplicate chocolate cereal boxes
Live in spare real estate.
I see no harm in it.
A man who looks homeless begs cup of coffee from the barista.
She obliges without a word or coin exchanged.
The vice won’t turn him into an abomination,
Water costs nothing in the business.
It’s a gold mine disguised as a salt pile.
Don’t think fiction, just look up and type.
Amongst the 25 cent candy, tattoo, toy machines
Amongst age that lived everything I have learned.
They sit in their leather jackets and Scally caps.
Cigarettes in their front pockets,
Index finger in an espresso mug’s loop.
I sit with white iPod EarPods,
Soaking my perception in underground hip-hop.
iPhone on my hip,
Spliff folded in wallet, tucked in back pocket.
We stand up and depart,