Half-roast Barista

Ah yes, another Coffee Poem. You may be wondering why I hadn’t posted last week. Simply put I was managing too many things without properly looking after myself, so I stressed myself sick, and there was some uncertainty as to if the symptoms were from a numbing migraine or a stroke… It was kind of weird to be told to relax and play games: a hobby I had for the best part neglected for nearly three months.

Now that I’ve recovered significantly, I might be a bit more scared of overworking. I’ve been on more coffee than usual as well, and I used to be on enough as it is.  So yeah, that’s why today’s poem is of the Coffee nature yet again.

Perhaps I’ll write a poem about how I felt next time, but for now, here is ‘Half-Roast Barista’

***

It’s an art form
exclusive to baristas
and morning people
with toast-like eyes.

A connoisseur
who cannot serve
their favourite
doesn’t deserve
their job.

Ready-to-boil
sachets are not
coffee. How dare
you insult us,
when you can’t
savour the bitterness?

With a whisk and powder
I can make cappuccino
but my coffee is bitterer
than bitter-sweet.

 

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