Hangover, Katelyn Sabet

“I drink red rose tea,” she said,
“Green tea is too healthy for me.”
“Too healthy?” he said, and then they proceeded
for over ten minutes to talk about tea.
I am having a headache.  My head sits next to me.
We don’t discuss teas, we revolutionaries,
we’re above that; we discuss my old glove that
has a hole, lets the wind in to my skin inside.
Something must be done about it.
The sunlight humping my table knife is a violent world by itself.
The café I’m in has “quirky-fun” names for dumb things like steamed milk.
There’s a quiet violence in every glint of the cashier’s pinky ring.
I sit in silence and watch the sun make angry everything.