If we were meeting up for coffee, I’d ask,
“Can we have fresh juice instead?
It’s cold and refreshing,
And won’t keep you out of bed.”
Over tall glasses of rainbow colors,
We’d talk about this and that.
Our past, present and future,
And plenty of idle chit chat.
I’d gulp my juice down in two shakes,
Because that’s just what I tend to do.
You’d laugh at my hasty hurry,
While sipping daintily at your drink too.
We’d sit there in the juice bar,
Not wanting to get up and go.
Watching faces of people walk by,
Carrying their coffee cups to-go.
Eventually, we’d have to leave,
Regretfully say goodbye.
We’d promise to catch up soon.
Over samosas and masala chai.