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