To Starbucks?

A Poem by Kara Hadley

i spend entirly too much time there. -enjoy-

Hours turned to days,

of my life, wasted;

no, spent;

curled up on chairs

with friends, passing paper cups

of brown liquid.

Spent sitting on cold metal chairs,

with workers

who give discounts

and cigarettes I shouldn’t have,

passing paper cups of brown liquid.

Hot,

with milk,

and white and dark chocolate.

Scalding,

with foam,

and vanilla syrup.

Hot,

two creams,

half a sugar.

Cold,

with milk,

and ice,

and a shot of strength.

Holding the cup with two hands,

at first.

Wrapping my body

around the warmth.

The first hesitant

sip.

Burning through.

Later, casual;

easy.

Lipstick rings

on cups and lids.

Discarded sleeves.

Cheap, brown napkins.

White digital timers;

timing freedom and breaks,

thrown down with a passion

against the huddled masses.

Butts and ashes.

Bad fortunes

and their golden

cookie wrappers.

Straw paper;

made into knots

and shredded.

Litter the metal tables

that become home.

Cars;

fast, big, old, black;

file into the parking lot.

Friends call and arrive.

Friends of friends visit

to bum a dollar;

exchange rumors.

Be seen.

Cops, don’t eat doughnuts; but drink coffee

by the gallons.

Stories and ideas

swapped with sips and tastes.

The black clad bar boys

become friends; to all or few.

Names known written

on cups in classic

black Sharpies.