It seems to me there’s a conspiracy,
to locate coffee shops,
in every place I see.

Many a times,
I head out for the day,
list of tasks in hand,
feeling purposeful,
and focused.
On a mission so to speak.
Ready to take on the world.
Or at least,
the grocer and the tailor,
and the teacher,
and the sailor.
Although, that last one may be pure fantasy.

But then,
that shop door swings open,
right in my face.
And the smell of roasting beans
sinuously surrounding me,
in a miasma of coffee scented ecstasy.

And just like Pavlovs dog,
conditioned to respond,
I turn.
Mission forgotten,
quest abandoned,
focused now,
on one thing,
and one thing only.
Getting myself,
A delish,
ambrosial cup of coffee.