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Jesus, the Barrista

I went in for a hot tea at a funky java place,
Where I witnessed a transformation that put a smile upon my face.
A tragic hipster groaned that he had ordered a double shot.
The barrista waved her spoon and assured him that was what he got.

She was Jesus, the Barrista.
It was the name upon her badge.
She was the “Madonna of the Espressos”.
Just don’t you ever call her “Madge”.

An elder woman in front of me refused to just believe
That the hipster was placated by the drink which he’d received.
She pressured lovely Jesus, “Turn my water into wine.”
Jesus said, “It’s possible, but recycling costs an extra dime.”

The sun was getting higher and I had to move along.
Jesus smiled sweetly as she gave me my oolong.
I felt a rush of sadness with the opening of the door,
I looked back to see the swirls of cinnamon like mini-halos on the floor.

She was Jesus, the Barrista.
It was the name stitched on her bow.
She was the “Madonna of the Espressos”.
But don’t you ever call her “Flo”.

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