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The barista's name is Jesus

His hands are quick,
and he doesn't smile.

It's a busy spot close to Union Square
where people from all over the world
wait for Jesus to serve
the hot with hissing iced
and the bitter with the sweet.

He watches the long line,
who's first,
who's last,
who's taking the subway,
writes down the names on paper cups,
and counts the money.

What can I get you today? he asks me
when I get to the front.

We order Peach Tranquility Tea for you,
dark roast for me,

and we step aside, waiting
for Jesus to call our names.