Coffee On Friday Mornings In Summer

Don’t get me wrong,
I have nothing against
Jehovah’s Witnesses conventioneers
except that I forget they’re in town
on Friday mornings in summer
and I never bring along enough coffee
for the ensuing extra half hour
in aggressive traffic--

Don’t get me wrong,
I have nothing against classical music,
but on Friday mornings
I’d rather sip coffee with the birds
than classical music
pumped through my office wall
at a fairly aggressive volume
for classical music and Friday morning--

Don’t get me wrong,
mostly I appreciated
that right-outta-college job
playing Girl Friday for a lawyer
who played classical music all day,
especially glad for the experience
of riding the bus in aggressive headphones,
feminist tomes for a budding heart--

Don’t get me wrong,
I have few regrets in this life
and everything’s a learning experience,
but I think I’d take back the days
of aggressive male gaze in the workplace,
burial masked as wardrobe scrutiny,
especially on dress-down Fridays when I’d rather
throw my coffee than sip--

Sipping my Friday morning coffee
reflecting on how buried moments show up
unexpectedly, requiring aggressive
attention even when the urge to mask them
is stronger than my French roast and my name--
I choose to experience pain, feel what comes,
including a full busload of shame.
And yes, regret. Don’t get me wrong.

For Corey’s prompt to the Real Toads: Friday Night Raw