Ode to Starbucks

December 3, 2013:  I like Starbucks.

I feel like it’s somehow wrong to say it, but it’s true it’s true! I like Starbucks. It’s the closest thing I have to a real home. (And isn’t that sad?!)

In fact, I wrote a poem about it:

Starbucks, Starbucks, you’re my home

Regardless of how far I roam

In Westport, Norwalk, Fairfield too

I’m always coming home to you

Your plain black tea is on the spot

It’s okay iced, but better hot

I love to drink it from a mug

An earthy option that I love

I dig walnut banana bread

but sometimes get lemon instead

Espresso’s strong to give me hope

It’s great on ice; I won’t say nope

The music can be sort of cool

I tap my foot—a dancing fool

Of course, some things confuse me so

Like what the hell’s “macchiato?”

And other terms like “venti” too

Make no sense to me; do they to you?

But those are only minor banes

The rest is magic, though one question remains

Why does every store in your lovely stable pride

a dour-faced, pale, skinny, pierced, dark-haired girl with tattoos?

I hope you enjoyed that, and as an important footnote, I hope everyone is aware that by simply ASKING the lovely Starbucks staff, they will gladly serve your drink in a real porcelain mug or glass, the way they do in Europe (or so I imagine). It not only tastes better and looks much, much cooler, but you’re helping your disturbed environment and, believe it or not, also getting a TEN-CENT DISCOUNT!

So spread the word. And don’t be ashamed, like I am, to love Starbucks—my home away from home!