Cups
Hovering near the line I watch a ladyorder coffee and ask for a second,empty cup. But once she has the cupin hand she thinks better of itand, leaving, drops it in the trash.I know about cups. They’re treesground to a pulp and coated with thinskins of plastic not unlike condomsthat make recycling impossible.In ninth grade I kept a Subway cupin my locker and cradled iteach day at lunch beneath my coatas I trudged through subzero windsand gusting snows to the franchise,where I’d blend in with the crowdwho’d already ordered, then stepboldly toward the soda fountainpatrolled by the staff and fill my cupwith Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Mello Yello,Cherry Coke, making what we calleda graveyard. I had the cup so longI named him. Bathed him dailyat the drinking fountain near the gymand…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, September/October 2023