Mustafa, my one-time neighbor
tall, thin, acutely handsome
I used to apologize to him
for screaming in my apartment
I ran into him and his wife
one Thanksgiving at Starbucks
greeted them, both nurses, I think
she, wearing hijab, silent but smiling
he nodding, a little hesitantly
to this fat little man
alone on an American holiday
who yells at God
--
yellow leaves, cigarette butts
on the inside edge of the flower beds
a tree, chockful of bitter red berries
four dirty, beige columns,
holding up the patio roof
a line of dead mosquitos stuck to/ climbing
each pillar
Starbucks Rocky River
a single bee in early evening
perusing the flowers
anonymous alcoholics, high school kids
troupe through this outdoor stage
Eastern European buddies
friends sitting to chat
at this sober, pale tavern
this three-story corporate behemoth
where more people enter
than arrive
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