My Mother Refuses to Speak the Language of the Modern Coffee-shop
 
 
My mother
machiavellis the mocha and the macchiato,
catapults the cappuccino into non-existence,
pulls the trigger on double-shot espresso,
insists on coffee, black and strong,
none of that Americano stuff,
buys me a coffee with milk
and rubbishes flat white.
As for barista – Bah! she says,
Barbaric.

Gill McEvoy

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear them.