Stopping By Starbucks on a Friday Morning
by Robert Froth
What exit? yes I think I know.
Across the bridge I have to go;
The meetings not too far from here
But first I must go find fresh joe
The barista glares with haughty sneer
Don’t you know the menu here?
No mocha, chai or coffee cake?
No hottest download of year?
Just coffee you want me to make?
He asks as if there’s some mistake.
The sound of caffeine as it steeps
He must think me an ancient flake.
The coffee’s lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.