Coffee Shop
I met her in the coffee shop
She hid me from a violent cop
She didn't care if I'd been hooking
She gave that cop a sober look and
Said, "She ran out that back door"
While underneath the check-out stand
I curbed a giggle, touched her hand
And saw that copper nevermore.
For thirteen days and nights we played
We laughed and sighed, no promise made
Not one moment were we apart
I loved her dearly from the start
Now I sit alone with mocha
And a side of almond roca
Our final meal: rice with veggie taco
Then she left forever for Morocco.
This poem I regard as a failure. It's odd it took me several months of periodic tinkering looking for the perfect words and scans that would rescue it from clunkiness. I think the last line is perfect for this poem, but leading up to it are so many little bad choices for which I could not find better. But I'm giving up, and sharing it as-is, as after all that work on it I hate to just throw it away.
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