Disappointment in a Coffee House

[metaphorliteral]

The last time I sat in a coffee house
--a real one, not Starbucks--
there was a promise hiding under my tongue
just waiting for you to walk through the door.
And it waited.
And waited.
And I drank macchiatos,
smiling awkwardly at the barista after my third,
and the caffeine went straight to my toes
which tap-tap-tapped
uncontrollably.
People came and went and they were not you.
The door opened and it was never you.
The barista started wiping down tables
and side-eyeing this lonely girl
and when I finally left, I left two things:
five dollars on the table
and an unspoken promise dropped on the floor
to be swept up with the rest of the dirt
brought in by shoes that weren't yours.