Every day for months I walk into the same coffee shop,
Order the same drink from the same barista and then
Read the same book while I drink it. But today
When the barista takes my money he grabs my hand, rough
Skin trapping my wrist and invites me to a sex party.
Put a jump cut here. Pull away from the emotion,
The characters. Focus on the message. Don’t make me feel
The awkwardness, the fear, and worse, the curiosity,
The desperate desire to know what happens
In houses where people fuck and then discard each other.
C’est vraiment dégueulasse.
I pull back. Smash cut. Run away, down Queen Street, to
The safety of noise and people, until I stand, blocks away,