No one knows that behind the counter
she wears those flamenco dancing shoes
somewhere over the rainbow
with a puzzled look or Dame Fonteyn
biting back a smile
a white camelia between her teeth
they don't know but how could they
from their centipede line wiggling over
café interior threshold into the world
of parked cars trees still dripping
from this morning's showers
She moves in that rhythmic certainty
choreographed by orally transmitted
variations on the theme of coffee tea and
what else is there chocolate not too much
for him especially and no whip
but some like latté with a lot of froth
they smile they leave a chink of loose
change in the tall-necked vase
that takes pecuniary thanks for the dance
Now that one's calmed down a bit since
yesterday she's glad to see back only once
for the caffeinated measure the small poison
the small click of the heel the eyebrows
flickering the steam the twist of wrist
the tamping down of finely ground
a look over a shoulder the line
shuffling closer and with a shout
Americano! the head twists away
into the new world outside
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