Read After the Kiss for Free Online Page B

need to brew another batch I forget.
    Good morning what can I get you?
; three people add
    themselves to the line—I
    was waking up
    in a tent
    with Alec
    two weeks ago this minute.
    It was cold
    we had a sleeping bag—
    so divebackdownunder warm.
    He was at the Lake House last night
    while I stayed home,
    having to get up at six for this,
    and I wonder
    when we will ever
    wake up together
    again?
    Subservient
    Janayah is actually smiling
    and Denver cracking me up
    each time
    I go in the back.
    No orders mixed up—
    and I’m giving the right change.
    I’m beginning to be used to it—
    beginning to fit,
    when in strides Iris-Casey-Josey-Miette.
    Their eyes say
we know you
,
    but their nostrils jerk like horses’
    and their lips smirk,
we don’t want to
.
    Being almost cool here flushes suddenly into being hot
    with embarrassment:
    this stained apron,
    my lank ponytail,
    the empty wallet
    I am hourly trying to fill.
    Their cashmere scarves,
    perfumed bangs,
    the sheaves of cash flicked in manicured hands.
    Skinny mochas, all of them
    â€”
hold the whipped cream
—
    and for the first time
    all day
    Janayah has to take over.
    She’s so angry
    she makes me clean the espresso machine,
    but at least the steam hissing
    covers up their high laughs.
    When they’re gone I get the bussing bin,
    and I think of Cinderella:
    even after the glory of the ball she was
    still wiping up after the stepsisters
    â€”still on her knees
    cleaning up their mess—
    remembering the prince
    and his quiet, handsome charm,
    wondering if he’d already
    forgotten
    about her.
    Covert Operation
    Two minutes stolen Monday
    in the far-left stall of the bathroom—me and my
    forbidden keypad—
    saying simply that I love him,
    risking everything for those words,
    risking confiscation,
    detention to remind him
    that small
    (gigantic) thing.
    Busy Work
    Afternoon of would-be no-work freedom
    with my ankles chained instead
    to scrubbing the bathtub,
    vaccuming the foyer,
    folding sheets and towels,
    putting away each dish.
    My housechores have piled up
    clogging the table—cluttering the floor.
    Mom pulls her weight, nursing at the hospital,
    but she has me to do the cooking,
    and no homework, either.
    The acid unfurls now
    across the back of my brain—
    another afternoon without Alec,
    another assignment in the way.
    Why Poets Don’t Belong in the Marketing Department
    The universe of literary thought
    â€”and all of poetic genius—
    perches
    on its toenails this afternoon
    clutching
    at its own tunic
    with consternation
    and suspense.
    Rama puffs,
    Sara sighs,
    Caitlyn dutifully
    takes notes
    as the debate of the ages—or at least the hour—
    rages
    through the silence
    of barely-suppressed disdain.
    Three calls for submissions face the judges:
    â€”Mr. Burland insists,
choose today
—
    one of Rama’s
    one of Sara’s
    â€”the best one Charlie’s—
    all not quite right.
    Will the dyslexic cats
    call forth good poetry?
    Or the blacked-in butterflies
    and Yorick skull?
    Is an open coffin
    festooned with roses
    the current equivalent
    of
I Want You
?
    I wonder what Alec
    would say
    if he were here.
    The ancients suck in their breath—
    they are too stunned
    â€”we are all stunned—
    by our stupidity
    to even speak.
    On the Seventh Day
    Holy Wednesday again and I am
    supine in the cathedral of Alec’s embrace.
    Peace washes over his
    loosening Adonis face and normally
    I would let my eyes worship
    for an hour
    the pew-straight line of his nose and
    the tender dip—Aphrodite’s fingerprint—
    of his upper lip
    before moving
    fully
    to the praise of his mouth.
    But today I am a child in church
    swinging my feet and squirming,
    glancing at the clock.
    There is dinner, as always, to make for Mom
    but also math homework undone,
    a senior “exit survey” to complete for guidance,
    call for submissions rewrites,
    and a chemistry