CHARLIE TU EATS

Bitter Cupcakes*

All morning in the coffee shop
They talked about the cupcakes.
Squatted down between the rows
of cakes and pies.
Charlie heard the barista say
we should spit on all them.

Fat flies buzzed, cockroaches scuttled
And the taste of Charlie’s
coffee turned thick and sour.

The barista said slowly, ‘I could tell them
the dishwasher did it,
who’d believe him?
He’s an immigrant.’

The room was warm and bright
Two goth teenagers laughed at the plump mother
struggling to urge her children through
the door
The room was abuzz with conversation
and the clink of
metal spoons on cups

‘I couldn’t help but hear,’
Charlie whispered from his table
‘your plans to spit on those cupcakes
and serve them.’
Trade secrets,
he smiled, I won’t tell.

But ‘please…’
and here he stopped his smile,
his brown eyes swimming with vague terror
‘Let me eat them instead’ he pleaded.

‘Oh don’t be foolish,’
the barista said to Charlie
‘I was just talking.
Those cupcakes were never in any
harm.’

Leaning back in his seat,
Charlie regained his smile, and
with practiced hand,
cupped his coffee protectively before
bringing it to his lips
and taking a long slow sip.

*An excretory take on Sylvia Plath’s Bitter Strawberries.