The Caffeinated

I’ve spent a lot of time at Starbucks these days: job hunting, caffeine consuming, wishfully thinking. So this is me, writing a poem about it.

The Coffee Shop, a poem

Barista,
I like the way you mispronounce
the word espresso to sound like
that word we use
when we’re on the go, go, go
your words so quick,
I feel slow
reading Italian names
like I was supposed to know them all my life.

The caffeinated unite
to greet you,
your java tricks slick
on the upsell;
medium roasted,
like a lady in the sun,
for maybe three hours.

When you ask me what I want,
I’ll stutter,
embarrassed in front of barista and bean
for ordering a cup of iced tea mixed with lemonade;

the scoff of coffee drinkers
strong like their liquid,
three shots to no sleep.

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