by Chris Buchanan
Poetry, 2026

Hunter Wolftruckle – hipster commando,
dumps a honeysuckle spritzer in tango,
drops a fresh frappe as he watches hot coffee,
ill-gotten stock, venti cups full of frothy

white gold,
slipped under the counter,
not sold.
And Hunter knows –

Back from the hole, a band of coffee chuggers,
thugs on remand from the clink, drink muggers
tucking hot cups into pockets and sleeves,
the city’s most notorious coffee lifters, tea-leaves,
gritty and inglorious grifters to a man –
it’s the Black Bean gang.

And that means that nearer than he’d like
is the fiend they fund with stacked flat whites.
He’s never seen her –
Her ledger’s clean as creamer –
Our hero can’t believe a second later when he feels
a funny feeling from the freezer –
and there behind the steamer –
the omniscient schemer

Fontina
De l’Oringina.

‘Freeze!’ cries Hunter, ‘Hipster commando!’
Squeezes his beanie on, quick as he can go,
flashes his badge and his flat-waxed moustache
and rolls his plaid sleeves, set to take out the trash —

WILL D’LORINGINA ESCAPE WITH THE STOLEN COFFEES?

WILL HUNTER EVER FIND HIS LOST LOVE, TRAVIS PICKLEFLY?

FIND OUT NEXT WEEK

on HIPSTER COMMANDOS