The Barista (The Perfect Grind)

The Perfect Grind, 
Precisely measured every time 
Amidst the chaos of rush hour. 
Beneath the coffee haze, 
He’s a product of endless day, 
Steam wand in hand. 

At about quarter to nine, 
There was a girl next in line 
With a smile she could’ve been famous for 
And a voice that sang 
When the register rang 
With her breakfast blend. 

Careful with the coffee and careful with the cream, 
Careful not to get caught up in his daydream. 
He topped it with sugar; he hoped not too much, 
She still thought that it was sweet enough. 
With a smile and a “Hope to see you again,” 
It was back to the Perfect Grind. 

“Something a little more fine, 
I need the boost this time,” 
She said to him on her lunch break. 
He took a minute to think, 
And found the perfect drink 
That would be just what she needed. 

He hurriedly measured out 
The fresh espresso grounds, 
And delicately pulled her shots. 
He poured a milk heart, 
A little bit of latte art, 
Something he’d been working on for her. 

Careful with the coffee and careful with the cream, 
But not careful enough with his daydream. 
The espresso was bitter, he’d made far too much, 
But she still thought that it was sweet enough. 
With a smile, and a “hope to see you again,” 
It was back to the Perfect Grind. 

The Perfect Grind, 
Precisely measured every time; 
He knows it like he knows the back of his stained hand. 
She wants a pour over, 
He’s got the blend for her, 
With her favorite notes of chocolate and fruit. 

Careful with the coffee and careful with the cream, 
Each and every cup and the moments in between. 
He tries to be sweeter, but not too much, 
She still thinks that he’s just sweet enough. 
With a smile, and a “hope to see you again,” 
It was back to the Perfect Grind. 

And it’s back to the Perfect Grind.