I sit under the backwards espresso sign
sipping my coffee
perusing a travel book about Turkey.
The borrowed pages
smell like paprika.
Droplets gather on the steamy window
and travel down in groups.
The women behind me talk
about their trip to Africa.
The glowing sign faintly buzzes
and I leave half my coffee undrunk.
It is winter
there are no flowers on the table
and I will never go to Turkey.
