Aaron Belz


A young woman in a China cotton dress,
with slender brown legs, flashing eyes,

took my order for one mochaccino, extra froth.

Bats flitted about high up in the pines
overhead; my face was lit up
by the iron table's single oil candle,
my features flickering

as I waited for the white mug of coffee to arrive.

Soon it did, and the waitress came with
extra napkins too, repeated my order
and asked if I needed anything else.

"No, thanks" I announced brightly,
not wanting it to appear that I had expected
to be served by a woman.

Next there was a huge clashing of glass bottles
into recycling bins in the darkness
behind the bar across the street.

I had to flag down my waitress and ask her for a spoon.