Coffee Queue Poem by Mary Champion

Here we go again -
life in the slow lane -
creeping, crawling, curling round the café
as people make their choices from the buffet.
I've selected my eats -
the savouries, the sweets.
Now I only need a drink
and you might think
I was nearly done.
But you would be wrong.
This is the point when slow becomes stagnant -
all momentum has gone absent.
The designer coffee buffs come into their own,
now the queue enters the torture zone:

Medium, large or monstrous?
Triple caffeine to keep you conscious?
Latte or Espresso?
Frappuccino, Americano?
Café Mocha? Café Cubano?
Turkish, Irish or Macchiato?
Something frothy? Cappuccino?
Have you tried the Affogato? .
Black! That's easy, now they're finished.
But she wants milk, my hope's extinguished.
Do you want it rich and creamy,
completely fatless or just semi?
Should it come from goats or cows?
maybe sheep or buffaloes?
But no, these two are vegans -
that's another list of options.
Choose from almond, oat or soya,
or perhaps you would enjoy a
peanut or a cashew,
perhaps pistachio would suit you.
I fight my rising panic,
they're insisting on organic!
But at last they have selected,
and the mixture is confected.
They walk off and now I venture
to order my thirst quencher
Just water - there's nothing purer.
The man behind yells 'Hallelujah! '