The two mocha were so different
One was dark chocolate, the other white.
Dark mocha was sprinkled with cinnamon dust.
White mocha was veiled in cocoa snow.
I always sit here. Those who snitch my seat
Are greeted with an unkind stare from me
I always sit in this seat. I watch what's going on.
I can charge devices under my feet.
And take selfies without stern faces.
The sound of ringtones buzz by.
The jazz album on repeat all day.
Good not to be in work today.
Good to actually have time for myself.
Good to be undisturbed for once.
Good to be in the sun, and it's only just begun.
I see them come in. I see them go home.
I see the town flourish And then go to bed.
I had two mocha and I like them both.
Black and white have their own qualities,
And their flaws, but they're both important
About the Creator
Chloe Gilholy
Former healthcare worker and lab worker from Oxfordshire. Author of ten books including Drinking Poetry and Game of Mass Destruction. Travelled to over 20 countries.
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Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor6 days ago in Fiction
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