it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
I see on passing the slim reflection
Of the light against the black coffee
Resting low in the pot, a confection
Of doubt calling, of restless energy
Of a single cup left - perhaps more
As though in personification
This smug, bitter brackish ichor
Is too proud to need validation;
But will lie in state slowly staining
Carafe and cup and counter soon,
Born of burnt berry and steam straining
Hot but always cold after noon;

Saying; "you need me, do you not
Though a bitter and brackish brew;"
But maybe smug coffee hadn't thought
I'd went cold turkey out of the blue.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Messages left under the doormat will be promptly decoded and a response may be issued.