by a mob
of Starbuck baristas who are on strike
until
they get higher
wages and
free room and board,
a scholarship
to the college of their choice,
a new car, a free facial
massage,
free tattoos and piercings,
and memberships
to a local spa.
they are lying down
like stale scones
or soured lemon bars,
in the middle of the road,
all in a row, keeping the traffic
from moving on.
sometimes they break
out into a chant
which reminds me of the old
civil rights marches,
or the protests to end
the Vietnam war.
but i don't see Bob Dylan,
or Joan Baez anywhere.
Martin Luther King, absent,
Pete Seeger,
unaccounted for.
i guess they don't realize
that people can
actually make their own
coffee at home.
just grind and pour.
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