by rico devante
In a cafe with lava lamps and long-haired baristas,
She murmured, "How can you stomach that crap.
That caffeine-laced sludge popularized
By pseudo-intellectual pashas."
She hated cafes especially ones with
Lava lamps and long-haired baristas.
And Caffeine made her breasts heave .
Her soup was littered with cigarette butts;
Her face, grayed from the weight
Of too much experience.
Staring at my cappuccino mug, she promised
To kill herself before she would drink
Such a bourgeois concoction.
All I could do was offer her a sip.
copyright 2009
Poetry is the language of imagination. Poetry is a form of positive creation. - KRS One
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Rico Devante - a name near as literate to mine own! Still, I can only sympathize here with She of the heaving breasts. Nay, I have not such mineself; and yet I share her contempt for the bourgeois, the joi de vivre, the maracas.
ReplyDeletePercy Bisque Silly, Man of Lettres