Tall white cups of morning
in a hundred varieties
topped with whipped cream;

Served at any of a dozen locations
between here and there
by peppy teenagers with bright eyes
and it's much too early
for that smile;

The clink of change,
smell of syrup,
two tiny red straws;

And it's out the door
into the chill gray sunrise
to stand on the curb
and wait for the bus
to drive me into tomorrow.