If they find out I never ate the grounds
grimly they will throw their white aprons
to the ground, pursue me into the street,
and make me boof it, regardless who looks on.
I am afraid to say I lied, I never ate it.

In any good cafe, if you look young,
or if you wince when you sip, and sometimes
if you ask for sugar, the barista will smile at you 
and say ‘Your first?’

and if, shyly, you give the word, 
they will tip the spent, hot, soily grit 
into your open palms for you.
Some people swallow it whole,
inasmuch as they can – some people
prefer to feel their enamel grinding. 

I am terribly afraid. Do not tell them.
If anyone finds out, wet handfuls of the stuff
will be thrown at me in the street, 
and I will have to boof it. I’ll have no sleep 
until this comes to pass. Odd, and bitter pleasures!
Known by few.

I thought that to go to bed together
was to be in love. I was going
about
like a milkmaid scorned by the beringed
hand that had beckoned only as far
as a haystack. At the time I had a hunger
to be wanted like a tattoo (of a snake,
a tiger or a sword). “You have nice eyes
and we seem to enjoy each other’s company
so quickly, let’s go into the nuclear bunker
together, and seal it behind us!” I thought
100 mph was fine in a residential zone
and was surprised to receive this letter
requesting my appearance in court.
I thought we were going to be like a branch
of an apple tree grafted onto an apple tree
already standing, to make beautiful new
and shining apples, the likes of which
nobody had ever tasted before.