Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns

On the Starbucks Line

On the Starbucks Line

"Double shot espresso and
two chocolate grahams, please!"
Complete with adrenaline,
I listen to the orders
as I wait for the seven
in front of me, and not care
about waiting, a fool
so pitiful, but
Banana Frapuccino and
my net-book are chums;
plus, the young man in front
of me-who said, "The name's
Felix"- is trying to pick up
the girl with crimson curls
in front of him. Then the woman
with long sleeves sitting at
the table to the left
signals to the grey-haired
man in summer shorts and flip flops
behind me, mouthing "Mocha Latte!"
Stacked in line, I mark
my spot and claim territory;
so afterwards, I may
compete for an empty circular table,
flinging my knapsack on top of it.
My Table Technique tangoes with
the pace of the stampede, since
a stranglehold on a table can be
as tricky as the brew, and so I
shall act when my order is filled.
For now, toward the end of my life,
with a steaming cup in my hand,
I can promise nothing to no one.