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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.

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