Caffé Americano?
Latte Monterosso?
Macchiato? Cappuccino?
Possibile decaffeinato?
Oh, oh, the coffee dilemma (Italiano).
Not a problem for the caffeinated native,
ordering like his Ligurian grandpa,
sipping at the tiny table, contemplative.
But the Chicagoan, truly foreign,
fumbling his euros like florins,
gesturing, grinning, per favoring,
wanting only decaf for ailments boring,
cannot convey the essence of the question,
and here’s why:
For all her caffé history
decaf is a mystery that Mia in her caffé bella
doesn’t care a prayer about, hoping
for intelligenza from this agitated tourist,
this single-lingo singularly nonitalian fella.