There are no baristas in Riyadh
Such is a life out of balance
the rich smell of Turkish coffee
forcing my mouth to water
like Pavlov's dogs
in wait of a treat
but not cute barista to greet
No smile with service
a subtle blush
no heart warming rush
no opportunity for a cutle little sin
not even a "thank you, come again."
All of the workers in Riyadh shops appear to be male
What spell is this?
Of the many things American I miss
none as important as
the absence of Miss.