It's no surprise I love NYC, coffee and maybe writing? The poem is from the point of view of the NYU Starbucks couch. if you've visited this particular establishment, I feel you'll fully understand this piece. Don't copy my poem please. Copying or saying it's your own creation (aka stealing it) is called plagiarism and that's illegal, and I'd be super pissed. If you'd like to leave a comment or two, what you like about it, what you don't, if any part of it is confusing, or any general comments, that would be much appreciated.
xo w <3,
Ari
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NYC Starbucks
Cracked leather couch
wearing bronzed nail heads
sits watching at the window.
A microcosm of the world
like a miniature ant farm,
where the garbage and rusted bolts
of taxis zoom by,
sparkling because
that is New York City.
Spilt coffee, roasted bean dust,
and dye from a thousand blue jeans,
smudged, packed, and stained
in it’s wrinkles,
couch
sits watching at the window.
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Everything I write is 100% original work.
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