Jesus in the Café
Studying a mocha cappuccino, he overhears snippets of conversations. One woman says someone or other only wants, wants, wants. Another says it is a sin to add pecans to brownies. And he understands.
Outside the café it is gray. An ill wind blows a tattered black umbrella down the sidewalk. He scratches his beard quietly in thought. A man in the street addressing pigeons through a megaphone looks like him. Why does no one else notice?
He turns back to his drink. A face has revealed itself in the foam. He punctures it with a biscotti, takes a sip.
Richard Jordan is a Ph.D. mathematician who also writes poetry. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Rattle (finalist in the 2022 Rattle Poetry Prize competition), Valparaiso Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, Sugar House Review, Tar River Poetry, The Atlanta Review, Kestrel, The National Poetry Review, The Midwest Quarterly, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. He resides in the Boston area.