Up and down the long Aurora
Are shacks at every mile
Where bikini girls serve for you
Hot coffee and a smile.
In skimpy dress they run machines
Behind the fish bowl glass
The nozzles shoot out white hot steam
Suggesting thoughts more crass.
The cars line up both day and night
With lonely men within
Who pay for the few second’s sight
Of a girl’s lovely skin.
Beachside, a man can longer gaze
At girls in bikinis,
But a woman serving lattes
Stirs shameful fantasies.
A business that’s perversely chaste,
Both raunchy and demure;
It’s sexy in good and bad taste,
A strange taboo allure.
Wish I could go to satisfy
But I fear that if I drove by,
Someone I know would see.
(Notes: so, for those of you who don’t know, bikini baristas are at that weird intersection of Seattle’s coffee culture and sexiness. They fascinate me, but less from a sexiness perspective and more from the “How does this exist?” perspective. I mean… this is Seattle. It’s hardly ever bikini weather around here. How in the world did they flourish as a business? And I had this pegged as a fad that would die out in a decade. Well… even with the rise of the internet and readily available pictures of women in undress, they’re still here. Weird.)