(Poem 231 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

It’s a Starbucks Sunday kind of day
with a Texas August outside and
chilled artificial air cooling us in our
fishbowl drinking iced tea and pink
fluffy milkshakes with fancy names
like Strawberry Cream Frappuccino.
Fellow goldfish scurry from their cars
into the inside where it is safe and
comfortable with the sounds of music
and laughter, frothing and cash
registers, clip clop of flip flops, and
pleasant conversation that dips and
swells and matches the happy serenity.

@Starbucks Studio – 231^st poem of the year