Pretty girls are contagious

Pretty girls are contagious
They're a curse to this old man
All my life they've caused mayhem
I have long been plagued by them

Their cheeky grins when a kid
Fluttering eyes all the time
Their warm hands at the first touch
That first kiss was all too much

How troubled were my feelings
As I dreamed of them at night
Let down I felt when over
She's not to be your lover

You put on such a brave face
Such feelings make you stronger
Even teenage love hurts so
You look around...where to go?

Soon you brighten up again
Not long you forget the pain
Then you wink at fair haired girls
You know...the ones with the curls

Now I go for a coffee
I do so every day
The barista smiles at me
That girl fills my heart with glee

Image found at www.https://reductress.com/post/is-your-barista-thedoula-for-you/

Forgive me for taking an alterative approach to the prompt. Hopefully life goes on regardless of the problems that seem to face us almost every day!

Fun and Froth

Her name is Nichole
Barista at the café I go
Her eyes dance with fun

"Cappuccino please"
For I like frothy coffee
And a cake of course

I sit myself down
And grab a paper to read
There's few in today

She brings it herself
There's a twinkle in her eye
Now I can see why

Coffee Break

It was coffee break
Girls gathered round the machine
The usual gossip

There was much laughing
About boys and the weekend
Then Hilda appeared

Back to work you girls
The old supervisor said
Sternly as she could

She recalled those days
When she worked on the shop floor
She'd been one of them

They'd get the sequel
At the afternoon's break time
She wished she could hear

Image found at www.chichesterweb.co.uk

How cruel we are

      

I can’t get over how cruel we are to coffee beans. Bred like battery hens in unending rows fed and watered never knowing freedom being raised for mankind's strange sadistic pleasure.

Then just as their mother feels that joy of procreation her countless children are ripped from her, dried out, tortured by roasting in some satanic ritual that has no kin to the natural world just to be encased in strange sepulchres of Hessian sacks and glared at, probed, tested and finally roasted and either crushed to crumbs or left intact entombed in glass or metal containers to be stared at by strange human beings who purchase these burial chambers and take them home to be placed in dark cupboards only to be worshipped at their bidding in further acts of bestiality.

These poor children’s remains and those beans who are not yet as dust are now sadistically ground in these animals homes and placed in sacrificial cauldrons and boiled gleefully with water specifically at the right temperature. Then to cap it all the hot sea of crushed coffee children is then placed in sacred drinking vessels whilst these insane humans sip gratefully at the hot mix muttering strange sighs such as “I needed that” or “I can’t start the day without my coffee”. I hope the guilt of their experience keeps them awake for such glee at our children’s funeral.

Image at top found at www.rawstory.com
Image at bottom found at www.mypromolike.com

And you smile shyly

I burn with a fire

I've fallen in love again

Your eyes bewitch me

 

Have I no morals?

I so want to possess you

And you smile shyly

 

You ask what I’d like

The hue of your skin thrills me

“Cappuccino, please”

The girl at the barista

I have a few loyalty cards in my wallet. They are all for coffee shops that I frequent. I used to spread my custom around, not only in the town where I live but also when I went to the city. Being an old fool I quite often would present the wrong card for stamping which would be politely returned while I scrabbled around for a Cibo or Coffee Club card instead.

There is one, 'Il Kafé', I tend to use a lot as I get a free coffee for every five I’ve had. So I go there often. I try to convince myself that is the reason I go there so often. It may also be because they sell a yummy fruit bun called a Danish Swirl. I have selected it so often instead of me asking them what I want they ask me if I would like a Cappuccino with a Danish Swirl. Sometimes they will say “The usual?” and I will nod in return. They don’t all call it a Danish Swirl but a variation of that so each girl behind the counter will ask Curl? or Twirl? or Snail? Or whatever they think the sticky bun’s name is.

I retreat to a seat after picking up the daily paper from the rack. This saves buying the paper so this makes the coffee even cheaper. There is always one there which makes visiting this café such a pleasure.

Normally I choose a table for two and face out of the café on to the shopping mall. I don’t watch the passers by but I read the newspaper. I face in that direction as there is problem if I face in. There is a beautiful girl behind the counter sometimes working the barista machine or preparing food or may even be out in the kitchen doing chores there. She is stunning. She is blonde with a flawlessly beautiful face and eyes that sparkle with laughter. When she looks at me I melt. Her hair is usually pulled back in a little chignon almost at the top of her head. So I stare out into the mall lest I stare at her.

I have the wit to know that she is not for me of course but she makes me feel young so why not go to the café to feel young I say. Yes we have spoken, not only of fruit buns and coffee but when we do, I stumble over my words like a sixteen year old talking to a girl he fancies for the very first time. She won’t stay working there long, she will study and get a job she really wants to do rather than serve coffee and buns to old men who sit staring out into the mall rather than at her. I can see she already has determination and success written all over her beautiful face. One day when I go back for my coffee and bun she will have gone and that will be good for her and for me.

But for the moment as I get up and put the daily paper back in its rack and walk out of the café she sometimes sees me go and we smile and I am strangely at peace with the world. But alas I don’t even know her name.