Misfit
Art of love, love of art
**For Marcus Parkansky**
sleeves of pink
sleeves of green
sleeves of yellow
the barista’s charcoal stare
his liquid smoke stance
exude
a sooty aroma from
the coffee grounds’ tender earth
the coiled, onyx terrain is
nestled beneath his weathered cap,
smudged
from his greasy fingers
these same fleshy tendrils
formed that shack in the back
those
sleeves of pink
sleeves of green
sleeves of yellow
accentuate the gorgeous
apathy of his horn-rimmed glasses
his succulent inky curls, faded
baggy jeans and ankle-boots birthed
from Neve and Clea’s kiss
how the fire pit peppers your
head with ash,
tender flakes dotting the bar counter
I flash a sheepish grin
amidst an apocalyptic blizzard