Ritual

coffee, on the counter,
delivered with my name (or
the coffee's name) broadcast
by the barista past and above
conversations, the clicking
of laptop keys, and the odor
of that homeless guy muttering
to himself
                  I grasp the cup
the same way every time (in my
left hand, if you must know),
remove the lid, replace it just so
(the hole for drinking opposite the
seam in the paper cup ~ lined up
with the same deliberation that
a bicycle tire is placed on the
wheel, label aligned with valve
stem, just so).  I take one sip
(only one), as I return to my
table
          reminding myself,
again, that ritual keeps us sane