Anatolian

by Andrés Ramiro López

I walked into industrialized cafés throughout

asia minor and I kept thinking of the prehistoric

starbucks back in America as a kind kind of

mother church and of each mohammedan

swinging on Vienna’s gate to an’ fro at

the order of Kara Mustafa Pasha. Turks

handled the pelts of an American newspaper

as they would a Western bible – envious – and

licking their moustaches. They have no fez and

pray make Atatürk smile in his grave.

POPE BEATIFIES D’AVIANO

My cap, its white N and Y mating atop each other

catches their focuses in between blinks.

Sir, here your cappuccino Sir? Sir?

O O Ok. Thank you.

the waitress bustles back, suspicious, and trying to

pass this off as an awkward cuteness.

The rest regard, and loudly shuffle on to the next

section. Capuchins. Only if, further than the

Poor Clare order, one cowl forming part

Of a monk’s habit might have anticipated this.

D’Aviano must have recited battle salmos

in preparation to slay mohammedans

and cautiously, then, inspected and re-inspected

outside the gates before gutting the coffee sacks

that the Turks forgot. Thanking the Poles over some

coffee fashioned in sallets they must have

wondered about beans and colombia.

POPE: EU UNITY WILL BE MORE STABLE/ IF IT IS BASED ON ITS COMMON CHRISTIAN
ROOTS

What possibly could a frappuccino be?

Wiping several tables on the way, she makes way

toward me and in accented english whispers.

“Sir, sir – we apologize for thinking you are

American terrorist We know no terrorist could

come from the new york. They come from

texas and c-c-cali-califor-nia.”

For even the Pope everything is timing.