At Tim Horton’s
JP gives us a wedding gift,
Three lottery tickets,
An itch of hope to scratch.
Set for life? We certainly think so.
With hunger in our mouths,
Digging ferociously,
Your teeth in my chest, and mine in yours,
Our cinnamon buns.
We won twenty dollars, Canadian.
One green bill, plastic and indestructible,
As long as we don’t break it.
Let’s buy a spoonful of coffee, I say,
And keep dissolving,
Until we run clear like rain,
Forever, from a Vancouver sky.
7/3/2020
Elena Kazamia 