Goat Opens Coffee Shop, Serves Espresso That Makes Farmers Philosophize About Dirt

Ma sipped foam and cried a bit,
“Why does hay feel so… counterfeit?”
Pa drank deep, then saw the sky,
Whispered, “Soil is where truths lie.”
Lou wrote poems in his cup,
Granny bought beans named “Lookin’ Up.”
Goat wore beret, no pants in sight,
Espresso shots brewed by moonlight.
“Each bean’s a dream,” he softly spoke,
“Roasted pain from fencepost folk.”
Preacher wept at the crema art,
It looked like Cain’s confused heart.
The bar had books and quiet goats,
And lattes named “Unmilked Oaths.”
City folks came on retreat,
But left confused and half-asleep.
Now Goat’s a guru, bean-by-bean,
Serving dread with notes of green.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)

Last Updated on January 5, 2021 by Alan Nafzger