I: If Starbucks Turned Beatnik
Denise stood up.
She removed her dark classes and straightened her beret.
I love my coffee, the way I like my men: medium-hot and open to suggestions.
A l-i-t-t-l-e Amaretto.
A dollop of cream?
How, my dear, do I receive my caffeine?
To my barrista and say, “Double, Latte, Skinny, with a shot --Tall”
And once again I give her a 75 cent tip.
And once again she yells, ”Dennis!”
Five days a week I go to Starbucks and have “Dennis” on my cup – again.
A couple of days later she added this follow-up.
II: The Java Jive Continues (Snap, Snap)
Denise had joined the resurrected beatniks. She entered her coffee bar with her black beret tilted just so. She surveyed the locals all plugged in to their different devices. So many people sitting together yet sitting alone.
The baristas administered: In the name of the Coffee bean, the caffeine and the holy roast: Amen.
Her barista, Chloe, looked up with eyebrow cocked.
“Venti latte double shot skinny, DENISE. D-E-N-I-S-E.”
She’ll get her name right for sure, now.
Groovy man. Life is far out.
Black is beautiful in a tall paper cup.
No snaps for Chloe