Mocha Rocha

The Venezuelan Barista
I wonder, will she return,
Are there more lessons
That I need to learn,
O’er the course of the year
That we’ve been apart,
I’ve heard, time is suspended
Regarding matters of the heart.

Will she even remember
That short interlude,
Last June and July
The American dude,
He lurked amidst the trinkets
The sweatshirts and candy,
He’d sneak up to the counter
And look kind of randy.

One day a Latte’
The next time a Mocha,
Then he brought her a sunflower
And a can of Almond Rocha,
She wondered, “What in the heck
I’m just the Barista”,
Stating, “No, I don’t date….
He asked, “What about your Sista?”

My triumphant return
Is just 3 weeks away,
Should I stop first at Brownwood
On the very first day?,
To check out the merchandise
The postcards and toffee,
Then sneak to the lunchroom
And ask for some coffee.

I expect her to be there
This couldn’t be the end,
Last summer she said
She was staying with a friend,
The son of the owner
Something cozy, like that,
Perhaps, too cool down my ardor
Like throwing water on a cat.

But we have nine lives
We cats, from the city,
Vacation at Torch Lake
An eye out for a kitty,
To ponder possibilities
In the vacuum of my mind,
And a bodacious Barista
Is a rare cat to find.

Fantasize, I must
Until my pending arrival,
If I see a Venezualen vixen
It guarantees my survival,
Regardless of circumstances
Beyond my control,
Coffee, caffeinated Goddess
Please return and play your role.

Oh, Venezuelan Barista
I hope to see you, this June,
If I hum a few bars of that
Can you carry the tune?



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