He tells me she’s the kind of woman
who knows how to
handle a bricklayer’s trowel
I remind him about the
time at the lumberyard,
and the bucket of grout.
He shrugs and his eyes release
3 teardrops. One of the drops
asks me if I’d like some coffee.
I feel hopeless, tell the drop why not.
The man closes his eyes and
extends his arm to the coffee pot
a distance of six feet, and tells
me it doesn’t break until 9’.
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