Gross Motor Skills

The barista has a hangnail, tiny and white,

a jagged little flag on her thumb.

I watched her pick at a sticker, holding it tight,

her knuckles went pale and her fingertips numb.

She was just trying to open the milk for my cup

but she looked like she was defusing a bomb.

I felt my own pulse in my throat start to go up

watching that desperate, small sort of calm.

It caught on the filter, a papery snap,

and I had to look down at my shoes.

It’s embarrassing, really, to fall in the trap

of watching the way other people can lose

their skin in the gears of a Tuesday morning.

I took the coffee without a word of warning.