Coffee at Night

I'm awake at 1 am.

I pour a quart of water

into Mr Coffee's reservoir,

spoon three scoops of grounds

from the red tub

into the filtered basket,

hit the on-switch, and listen

as the hoarse-voiced plug-in monk

recites his litany of drip

in black Latin.

 

Minutes later,

as Brother Insomniacus

coughs his way to the end,

the dark thread of coffee

stops its slow cascade

into the glass carafe.

I get ready for my quotidian fix.

 

I pour it into my dark-blue

yard-sale mug

emblazoned with white letters

spelling out PHILADELPHIA.

I prepare for the jolt, the kick,

the manic perk and pep.

 

Well-meaning friends

are thick with sage counsel:

You shouldn't be drinking

coffee at night. I mute

my retort, and think: yeah,

well, if God didn't keep

waking me up

at oh-dark-friggin'-thirty …





Poetry by Thomas D The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2021-04-01 at 03:23

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Sona
Ha ha, Thoroughly enjoyed reading
2021-04-04


Bibek The PoetBay support member heart!
You had me at the title! :)

In awe of how you've personified various tidbits of coffee-making, especially "litany of drip / in black Latin" and the "dark thread of coffee" cascading.

Lovely!
2021-04-02