Coffee

A poem about having no shot and trying anyway

He paid for her latte, a gesture of good will poorly received:
She protested, he backpedaled,
capitulated,
“I’ll tell you what- if this goes well, first round’s on you tonight…”

She smirked like a royal,
bit her top lip and looked at him
like a foster kid,
Planning a meeting with the birth mother who’d never show

cocking her glance, askance,
she almost sang, But what if it doesn’t?
What if your currency and your courtesy
are never to be repaid?

And he just smiled and shook his head, he said,
“Well, I’ll have lost something more than a fiver then, won’t I?”