The Pretty Barista
Why are you always drinking that expensive coffee? Ann texted Jim.
Jim stared at his phone. A text comes across rudely sometimes.
The pretty barista behind the coffee bar asked “Foam? Froth? Steam?”
Steam he thought, and his face turned pink at his boldness.
He hoped she would give him a little heart like the last time.
His heart jumped at her pretty blue eyes. “Pardon me?”
“I didn’t say anything,” she said. She wore a sweet smile.
He took his expresso to a booth where he could watch her ponytail.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
