The grumpy queue shortened.
‘No fat,’ decreed the matron
in front of me.
‘No whip,’ cried her friend.
‘Next,’ and a barrista`s
what`s-your-pleasure look.
‘Latte,’ I asked
and settled for a tall.
(Oh the way she pulled
the nozzle down
and wiped it clean
left no doubt she knew
how to handle a customer,
brisk and business-like.)
‘Do you want foam?’
she whispered, pumping
as I pondered her performance
and Sigmund Freud–
Would he have had his grandé?
‘How come men don`t serve?`
I naughtily ventured.
She smirked and shot back
‘They don`t keep things clean.’
‘Ah,’ I said, suppressing a grin
and stirred my poem to go.
……………………………………………………….
Another context poem in which the Freudian contextful language and actions overwhelm the least imaginative wordsmith. Something of a study of the sexes and their respective psychologies and bents. This familiar context and the language exchanges of this particular visit were obviously too much of a writing window to resist.
Incidentally, relative to this theme thread, contexts have their own language and encourage you to think and talk a certain way. I would say that context, as much as, if not more than process, influences our language acquisition and, by extension (bad pun), thinking.
As much as social conditions or environments (such as poverty, lack of modern conveniences, etc.) might affect our future possibilities, contextual language does, too. If you need to see how unfun or deadening contextual language can get, just read a bank contract, lawyer’s will, government document, or an ‘easy-to-follow’ instruction sheet. One more poem on context to follow…