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“So when are you going to give this up and stop?”
Her voice a cultured melody, like honey on dried ice
Unimpressed with what she sees and wont tell any lies
“Oh, I gave up five minutes in when I saw this would flop.”
This comment made the last hour worth it as her jaw drops
Though she’s been rude to the baristas, something I despise
I have spent this last hour trying to be nice.
As ice-lady storms off the barista smiles from across the shop
I smile back and look down in my notebook
Trying to write a poem about this encounter
Not really finding ice-lady a worthy simile
I give up for the moment, I stand up and look
The barista is still smiling behind the counter
She stands there, hazel eyes on me, like Psyche
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- 4 years ago
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