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cullendonohuePoems
With the blatant Guess work Of a my First chemistry Set The girl In the denim jacket Reaches for Creamers, And sweeteners, And sugars. First one Then another And then the first again. Each time Tasting her Iced-coffee To see If it is just right. A child cries in the corner. Her father tries to console Her screams. I laugh to myself As I wonder if her Coffee didn't turn out just right. The girl in the jacket Is still Mixing And tasting. She has pretty auburn hair. Across the street, The railroad crossing Sign swings down. Crying out a Familiar Ding, ding, Ding, ding. A group of graduate Students Discuss the complexities of art Over a yellow pad And some chai lattes. "There's more to it than that," The oldest one says, His voice raised as he stands. I take a sip of my coffee And look to the counter. The baristas here Don't smile on Saturdays. The cute one makes a mocha, While the other takes an old man's Order. The girl in the denim Walks toward her seat, A backpack in hand. The crossing gate still chimes. Ding, ding, Ding, ding. I debate adding some sweetener To my coffee, But remember I like it black. I debate Discussing the Complexities of art But decide I like it simple. The crossing gate Continues to ring Ding, ding. I like it better Here during The week, when The baristas Remember to Smile.
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Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
Coffee Shop Saturday
With the blatant Guess work Of a my First chemistry Set The girl In the denim jacket Reaches for Creamers, And sweeteners, And sugars. First one Then another And then the first again. Each time Tasting her Iced-coffee To see If it is just right. A child cries in the corner. Her father tries to console Her screams. I laugh to myself As I wonder if her Coffee didn't turn out just right. The girl in the jacket Is still Mixing And tasting. She has pretty auburn hair. Across the street, The railroad crossing Sign swings down. Crying out a Familiar Ding, ding, Ding, ding. A group of graduate Students Discuss the complexities of art Over a yellow pad And some chai lattes. "There's more to it than that," The oldest one says, His voice raised as he stands. I take a sip of my coffee And look to the counter. The baristas here Don't smile on Saturdays. The cute one makes a mocha, While the other takes an old man's Order. The girl in the denim Walks toward her seat, A backpack in hand. The crossing gate still chimes. Ding, ding, Ding, ding. I debate adding some sweetener To my coffee, But remember I like it black. I debate Discussing the Complexities of art But decide I like it simple. The crossing gate Continues to ring Ding, ding. I like it better Here during The week, when The baristas Remember to Smile.
cullendonohue
Written by
cullendonohue
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
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