Steam rising and sounds of foaming milk
permeate the atmosphere 
Background music forces itself 
into the foreground, competing with
contrived conversations, babies wailing
and a workman swearing abusively 

The Baristas carry on without a whisper
They could even be sisters in the way
that they stick together, talking about
the weather again with the customers 
Working in unison like a well oiled machine

Those outside have now decamped
‘cos it’s damp and dank. They sacrifice their drags on fags to get out of the draft
and into the groove of the background tunes, soon to be drowned out by laughs 

The poet eats his bacon butty then starts
to write but nothing smutty
Just looks around and listens intently 
To the sounds and views being expressed
some gently, but others not
So he writes this poem and that’s your lot!