His Order

Black, no room.

Came out before I caught it—

his order, not mine. Her hand

already on the flat lid.

Cream. Sorry. Cream.

She switched. Didn't blink.

Twenty years of cream

and still my mouth keeps his order.

My father's dead. His coffee

outlasted everything about him

except the way he said it—

flat, like the morning owed him that much.