new yorkers can’t do coffee

new yorkers can’t do coffee.
there.
i said it.
maybe a starbucks confection
all dolled up
cream and a swirl
of something sweet
and lined with tooth decay
maybe something
filtered or plunged
or mixed and mingled
with chocolate syrup.
but when i ask
for an espresso
(since you don’t know
your long blacks from your shorts
and a flat white
only exists
in some godforsaken corner
of a bridge & tunnel borough.
i ask for an espresso
‘just an espresso?’
you are doubtful
perhaps potency is not
your strong suit
but you are new york
embodied
your brethren clutch
paper cups as they
pound the grey pavement
under grey skies
you are known for
your aggression
your worldliness
and yet
here is my order
at the bottom of a latte glass
a half-inch brown-black
layer of caw-fee
but i’ll shrug
and knock it back
because anything goes

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