The tip jar was snatched at O Cafe. O!
“Somebody just picked it up,” mused the guy
at the register. I’d stopped in to buy
six ounces of beans, fresh sweet espresso,
number two grind. The young baristas know
their stuff. They’re very warm–no snark. So why

did you make off with their hard-earned tips? I
want to ransom that jar. (My phone below.)
You think it’s easy drawing hearts in foam,
standing for hours, while customers flirt,
check their email, and make themselves at home?
The tips say thank you. Imagine the hurt.
I’m sorry you need food or drugs or thrills.
I’ll pay double if you’ll return O’s bills.


Bio: Underground Voices will publish my experimental novel, “Ad Parnassum,”  along with two stories, in December.  Ink on paper!  It’s my 23d book–and took 41 years to make it into print.

Featured Image: “O Cafe NYC” by Jeremy Fountain


Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.