A tiny man- barely there, except
Out of him exutes a loud, raspy shout.
The voice is still small- but boisterous.
It seems to carry an echo
Like a voice marred by 50 years of smoking
But still won’t notice his inability to talk
Everything he says comes out in this same
Raspy, friendly yell.
He bounces around as he walks-
A joy and restlessness to his stride—
A wanting to be liked
By younger co-workers and customers.
As he cracks out a dirty joke.
He greets you cheerfully—
With a rough gleam in that tiny voice.
And serves coffee heartfully,
He tells you he’s been there 8 years.
But neglects to ask “Room for cream?”
You take your seat at a window bar booth-
But through the reflection—you see the
Employees jostling, cleaning
He jokingly cries—
“you’re fired!”
As he picks up a heavy black matt
And wriggles off the water as if to
Prove something about his capacity—
He can do it. He can do anything.
The congenial supervisor sees him along—
Afterall, the smokeman is off at 10.
He sweeps the café,
Shuffling chairs around like cards
With their legs uneccessarily scraping the floor—
He sweeps, and then mops,
Through all the curves and nooks,
Careful not to intude on a reading or chatting customer.
After 8 years, he still cares by the way
He pushes the bar stools far back, so
He can sweep the
Coffee cake crumbles,
Straw wrappers, and
Smooshed Splenda packets.
From your position you hear
A sudden grunt! An exclamation!
He must be displeased by the mess
the customer unthinkingly leaves.
He works steadily and then notices you
Before he leaves. He says goodbye—
And re-inroduces himself.
“I’m ANDY! Are you single?”
You grin and say “Yes I am.”
“You’re beautiful!!” he exclaims “Like a model!”
“Maybe we should get together!” He moves his
arms in a suggestive way. You just laugh.
Aside from the dirty suggestion, that’s the
Nicest thing a single person has said
To you since you moved back 2 years ago.
He puts his bomber thrift jacket on,
Nods his head,
And then leaves the store, in his
Bouncy, cheerful stride.
