Challenging is the choice as one's pocket
What would you like today, Ms.?
The lady at the counter asked
By the numerous choices am I tasked.
Perhaps the Yirgacheff I'll try
which instantly reminded me of a giraffe.
She got ready to pour the beans and I interjected
How about the Kaffa?
I see a picture of a black boy with bare feet
somewhere in Africa walking a dirty street.
Challenged, I stood, by the sophisticated names
Challenged, likewise, is my pocket.
Mocha or Macchiato?
Cappucino or Frappucino?
Brulée or Frappé?
Ristiretto or Espresso?
How interesting they all sound.
I settle for regular
On my stomach, it's easy
and as challenged as my pocket.
She smiles.
Through my mean pocket she sees
I'm ashamed.
There are so many types and brands of coffee, a drink that I have every day. I had flat white coffee with sugar just this morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A cup of coffee in the morning wakes me up as well as this poem which cheers me up. Zoila T. Flores