coffee at the library
If it were a television series we’d sip
out of unlabeled cups
and not smoke cigarettes on breaks.
If it were a dream we’d be considerably
productive despite the air conditioning
and our naked bodies.
If it were a bad joke the red-head
would be reading to the blonde while
the brunette got married in the stacks.
If it were a Friday we’d find a seat.
If it were an answer to an obligatory question posed
by the uninterested but pointedly cordial roommate,
it’d be “alright” while biting a banana.
If it were a teen-novel we’d be broken up
and the only seat left was the one beside you
and the hurricane we heard the adults talk about
but didn’t truly consider had just begun to hit
so I couldn’t leave—
in fact, I’d have to sleep there.
If it were a disaster they’d only have
small cups and hazelnut,
they’d close at nine.