As when the night of moons and stars
Drove me to toil and strife,
Hunger and thirst and hopelessness
Brought me Starbucks tonight.
The beans’ roast gives the strong, bold scent
Of baristas named Bernice––
The beans, and the cold, white soy milk,
And the counter splashed with grease.
Who asks of me my order now?
It would be more delight
To have asked for a croissant or scone
Than sip this drink tonight.
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