A recent visit to a coffee shop in a “gentrifying” neighborhood struck me hard…this came next. Fragmented. Straddling the realms of essay and poetry…
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Everything’s White
The space. “Design inspired.” Subway tile. Perfectly straight lain. White. Sleek.
Macchiato. Cappuccino.
Inviting tables for two. veined marble. White, with grey streaks. Then starkness.
Garage style door, all windows. Open, I’m sure, in nicer weather. The adjacent wall, brick—exposed; perfectly haphazardly chipped. Worn look. What’s new can be old.
Bar height counter. Rough-hewn wood under stain. Painted on. Just a hint of sheen, the surface now smooth. Edged with wrought. Steel maybe. Hard for sure. Don’t catch your scarf on that.
Busy looking ones; just ones at the tables for two. All white. Tapping on white keys on white laptops. Except that one that’s silver.
Contrast to the rough underneath. What’s been covered up.
Music. Strong beat. Silky baritone rap. Black voice. Black rhythm. Black history. Piped in over four-dollar-and ninety-cent coffee drinks.
This was Five Points. Once thriving. Seat of black culture. White has taken over.
Latte. Flat white.
The Coffee. It starts out black. Gets overtaken by white milk. Forced in. Steamy aggression.
Bitter taste. I cannot shake.