Easter at Al Qaeda Bodega

At the gold speckled counter, my pal in white apron -
index finger tapping his Arabic paper,
where the body count dwarfs
the on in my Times - announces,
You're killing my people.

But in Hell's Kitchen, even the Antichrist
ought to have coffee - one cream
and two sugars. Blessings
upon you, he says, and means it.