Musings by The Poet Loriet
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am
Slamming the door,
out of breath and late again--
Drat! No time to brew coffee!
I squeal through drive-thru,
Incubus blaring on my radio--
chhhhhhh...
Large coffee with five creams please
chhhhhhhhhh...chhhhhhhhhhhh...
I pull up to "my second drive-thru window,"
sigh and roll my eyes.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth~
Oh no, it's HIM!
"Well, helloooooooo, gorgeous!"
(At least he didn't call me ma'am;
Gawd, that makes me feel old!)
He grins wide, bad teeth exposed--
windows flung open wide,
he tosses casual dares to wind and snow
in an unseasonably warm-weathered
short sleeve work polo,
tattoos snaking up his arms.
He stares at me, through me,
teasing me with one measly creamer
at a time, with-holding my caffeine.
I'm about ready to get snippy,
"OK bud, hand over the coffee
and noone will get hurt!",
but ...
I dare not sass him
due to that rough-around-the-edges
cloak he wears,
thinly veiling flirtatious eyes.
Sigh.
All I wanted was a cup of "Jo"
and a speedy drive to work,
mind cleared of details.
Instead, I've discovered a poem,
one that dances among
the peripheries of my mind...
a poem about the tattooed boy
who always serves me "fresh food"
regardless of whether I'm having
a bad hair day, no makeup, glasses,
kids fighting in the backseat--
I have to wonder~Is he nuts?!
I drive away in my minivan
hating the blush that creeps unbidden
up the nape of my neck.
Tailing behind the semi-driver
whose back end
unabashedly proclaims that he's
Air Ride Equipped,
I ponder the destruction
of yet another
perfectly beautiful
morning drive.
Lori Beal
out of breath and late again--
Drat! No time to brew coffee!
I squeal through drive-thru,
Incubus blaring on my radio--
chhhhhhh...
Large coffee with five creams please
chhhhhhhhhh...chhhhhhhhhhhh...
I pull up to "my second drive-thru window,"
sigh and roll my eyes.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth~
Oh no, it's HIM!
"Well, helloooooooo, gorgeous!"
(At least he didn't call me ma'am;
Gawd, that makes me feel old!)
He grins wide, bad teeth exposed--
windows flung open wide,
he tosses casual dares to wind and snow
in an unseasonably warm-weathered
short sleeve work polo,
tattoos snaking up his arms.
He stares at me, through me,
teasing me with one measly creamer
at a time, with-holding my caffeine.
I'm about ready to get snippy,
"OK bud, hand over the coffee
and noone will get hurt!",
but ...
I dare not sass him
due to that rough-around-the-edges
cloak he wears,
thinly veiling flirtatious eyes.
Sigh.
All I wanted was a cup of "Jo"
and a speedy drive to work,
mind cleared of details.
Instead, I've discovered a poem,
one that dances among
the peripheries of my mind...
a poem about the tattooed boy
who always serves me "fresh food"
regardless of whether I'm having
a bad hair day, no makeup, glasses,
kids fighting in the backseat--
I have to wonder~Is he nuts?!
I drive away in my minivan
hating the blush that creeps unbidden
up the nape of my neck.
Tailing behind the semi-driver
whose back end
unabashedly proclaims that he's
Air Ride Equipped,
I ponder the destruction
of yet another
perfectly beautiful
morning drive.
Lori Beal
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma`am
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma`am
