First Cup Of Coffee
The television people scooped
Brown crystalline powder
Into a white paper bowl
And poured water over it,
Telling me as a child
That the best part of waking up
Was that magical first cup.
I believed the television people
Because they never lied
And surely there was a potion
In that blue metal can
Sitting on the shelf
Next to a bag of sugar;
Magic waiting for a cup.
Every day I measure the grounds
With a special metal scoop
And add the same amount of water,
Push the ‘brew’ button
And try to patiently wait
As I prepare for the first sip
Of a magically flavored cup.
Vessel
Loose lips sink ships,
And I am trying to find the bottom
Of this endless cup of coffee,
To see if the flecks leftover
From a filter bowl
That didn’t quite seat
In the worn out Bunn O Matic
Have left a message for me.
Like so many tea leaves,
Why can’t coffee dregs
Predict the future?
Loose lips sink ships.
Coffee
Lifeblood in a chipped green mug, I curl chilled fingers around ceramic, lifeblood in a chipped green mug, Nothing particularly exciting or dynamic, slowly, slowly my eyes open ever wider. I curl chilled fingers around ceramic. Better than a mug of spiked cider, I drink of biting and bitter goodness. Slowly, slowly my eyes open ever wider. They say caffeine causes stress. Shoulder shrugging I grab another cup. I drink of biting and bitter goodness The golden sun slowly comes up, I should get a start on another day. Shoulder shrugging I grab another cup. Exhaustion is finally kept at bay, I should get a start on another day; lifeblood in a chipped green mug. Lifeblood in a chipped green mug!
Morning Coffee
Drip...drip...drip,
the aroma of seared coffee beans
wafts out of the scorched carafe,
through the room
and escapes into the long hallway.
The tantalizing perfume
awakened weary eyes,
ready to consume.
The morning coffee ritual:
Carefully measure two scoops,
add water to the line where 12 cups is graphed.
Every morning the routine is habitual.
My building comes alive with caffeine;
the line to the pot perpetual.
We shake off a winter morning's gloom,
and make the idle war machine resume.
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