University Coffee

Cornered, suffocated (by multiple things), she stands in line for coffee.
I watch her swallow a breath — I know what it smells like.
She wields a precise look,
I am pierced, for she has not noticed that
In the other end of the shop,
There am I.
My mind on one thing, my senses on another,
There I wait
For her to catch up
— But I am not the manager here,
And, damn, there is too much ice in my drink.

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