The First Job I Loved (in retrospect…)

Funk’s Democratic Coffee Spot


chalk from case 1 are the color of grandma’s breathmints
Soft hues of blue, pink, and yellow, dusted with white
Case 2 holds the whole rainbow, the chalks are bold and living
“Maybe when chalk gets old it loses it’s color”
the sandwich board in front of the shop:
Black Bean Burrito. Fresh salsa. $5.50
Granita milkshake. Real ice cream. $3.50
Hank shuffles, his frame supported by a wooden cane
“Gonna be hot today…”
The black and white striped awning hangs like palm trees leaves.
“Funks” is neon orange in the window

Charlie is in the patio
His wifebeater has holes from cigarette ashes
He has a joint in one side of his mouth
The other side is singing Zepplin
He wants a burrito. Extra sour cream. Extra salsa.
And do I want a hit?
I do.

VW bugs painted on little blocks of wood go up the walls
As punk kids come down the stairs
They congregate and debate the merits of anarchy
They have all been arrested at protests
And they resist The Man at every corner they come to
They also have parents that bail them out of jail
And pay their rent while they go to MICA

The piano’s keys jut like an old man’s teeth
They have long been stripped of their black and white shells
They look wooden and old, like the mast of a ship
The heart is exposed; the belly of the whale is visible
The piano’s frame arches like a great fishes’ ribcage
Hammers kick like Rockettes when he plays a scale

Allison waters her plants
Sunshine blends in with her body
Pink nipples poke from a stretched T-shirt
She can hear the piano downstairs
“Why does he play the same songs over and over?”
When he comes upstairs they will go out with her friends.
He thinks they’re assholes.
He’s right.