The man was struggling to raise a tiny ceramic cup,
Trembling hands rested on a rush hour counter smeared
By stains of coffee croissants crumbs clumsily left behind
By those who indulged before him. Deep breaths
As he strives to command his motility barely heeding
The political discourse of the prime minister hanging
Above his head on a flat-screen TV, reassuring
The populace with promises of a swell futurity, despite
Moody’s downgrading Standard and Poor’s outlook
People ignoring the meaning of both. A sigh,
As he grasps the fragile drinking vessel anticipating pleasure
Hazardously pausing to inhale exotic scents. Quivering lips
He takes a sip, a drop of espresso slithering down his chin,
Instantly screening his surroundings to check
If someone has seen, grabs a napkin and cleans
Furtively places it back in his pocket then proceeds,
To gulp the brew slowly savouring flavours of victory.
Sapphire irises yellow scleras content he smiles, notices
My stare nods a silent greeting while the jewelled lady complains
About property taxes, the bureaucracy, the bills, the kids
Grown up to be slaves working sixty hours a week,
Forty officially twenty a moral obligation a tacit blackmail
For a nine-hundred-euro monthly salary they hope
Will get paid. Her pension half of that providing for all
Her time devoted to grandchildren oblivious to her despair.
He dismisses himself, heartily saluting the bartender
Reaching for his worn-out leather wallet beginning to count
Copper coins as he heads for the cash desk neglecting
The owner’s vehement conversation on the phone
Disappointed by the latest football match results,
Whilst a seemingly crazy tramp at the door imprecates
Against the State and the Vatican blaming them
For her condition. I drank three shots since he came in,
Many trains departed chased by frantic passengers eager
To catch theirs, yet solely for him time seemed to have halted
A tender gesture from life a gift, a spectacle of what
Importance truly is, for my eyes only.
[Featured painting: Untitled II by Fabian Perez]