In a Starbucks coffee shop,
the door gently
swings open
and as if she was
some type of royalty,
glides in through the entrance.

Pushing her sunglasses up
to rest on her head,
unzipping her
North-Face jacket
because the store is too
Hot, striding to the counter
in all of her grace.
The screen on her little
black and grey box lights up,
as she selects which app
is right for the occasion.
Twitter?
Instagram? Snapchat maybe?
Her face becomes distressed,
because she can't decided what
she wants to tweet.
Her right knee bent,
Hand on her left hip.

The nice barista takes her
hideously ridiculous
order-
which she thinks is coffee,
but really is just milk and chocolate.
He makes a joke
and she laughs,
teasing,
exposing,
his every desire

Like a wide open Rome
to the wicked hands
of the Vandals and Huns.

She grabs her drink, and
plucks the little lints attracted
to her
Lululemon leggings,
wipes the smudges off
her new grey
Uggs.
She sweeps her hair back,
brown flames of hair
crashing like waves on her shoulders,
and once more,
she glides out the door.