Doxa 4

Woman and Machine

There the fresh light refracts
from a high apartment window
and angles into a cafe. It sparkles
on the steel of an espresso machine
manned by a single woman
with a swallow sweeping up her bare
forearm. She weighs the grounds,
tamps them down, yanks the portafilter
into place: woman and machine now
indistinguishable. The gold
shot oozes into its shot glass
as she steams a pitcher of milk
and glances over her shoulder
at you, through the mist.