Coffee Shop on Fifth Avenue

I counted eight hooks and rings 

thin gold ones that aren’t conspicuous

unless of course they’re hooked into the nose

or eyebrows or god knows where else

on this boy with bleached white hair

cut short and flat on top

I wonder why the hell

would a boy who’s obviously self conscious

tugging at his shirt tail to be sure it comes down far enough

to keep his I imagine ordinary belly button from showing

as if anybody in the coffee shop would try to peek anyway

but there he was selling coffee and cakes

asking can I help you and do you want leaded or unleaded

just like the Pedants at the University faculty lounge

not really understanding what he was doing

mixing metaphors

and who cares anyway if the coffee is Columbian

aul lait or espresso

except the heavy metal babes

hanging back by the magazine table

can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen

thinking with not much fear of contradiction

by experience or the god damned truant officer

that’s the way she referred to him

or maybe her

that not being in school interrupts education

what I want to know is who talked him into the rings anyway

right through that cartilage that divides the nose

hanging there where little cold day drops

drip one after the other

what happens now