Late Latte

Whenever the lights go out

I can see into the past—

hundreds of years ago.

The coffee shop lays on top

of a burial ground.

I am too tired to notice ghosts

and too awake for the nightmares.

When the bartender grabs my arm

I open my eyes to see

a woman, accused and tried;

a witch during the hunts.

The iron casket shuts tight

and plummets into a boiling pit.

No one can hear the screams

as caffeine frightens me

back to the present.