Sketch

Sketch me from the front to see
what I can't behind me. My figure
silhouetted by the morning cloudy sky
in the window that faces a long blue
Chevy Astro van with 6 minutes left on
the meter. The meter is wet. Droplets
bead off onto the saturated pavement
that splatters with tiny pin-prick rain
drips as early strollers, hiding inside
of umbrellas, splash through.

Sketch me from the back to see the
three young baristas make orders and pass
a combination of cafe drinks to the old woman
on my right, who reaches for a cardboard
4-cup holder. See from behind me the steam
rising over my shoulders; and hear the early
inconsequential conversations; and
imagine the racket of plastic utensil wrappers
opening and clatter of espresso machine parts
being rinsed by the full-power faucet.