Here is how a strong cup of coffee is perspective:
Tipped up, the rim is chipped horizon
and the black and grainy world ebbs in gulps.
The bad taste, the burnt tongue bitterness - each is welcome against hurt and cold and maybe rain. Sugar wouldn't be right.
The morning is still frostbound and I find myself in it, walking from glow to glow under watchful streetlights, thinking blue and orange thoughts. The empty mug feels good in my hand. When the new sun storms through the clouds, I will be ready.
I could have written a poem for coffee on rainy Monday--the only thing that salvaged the day.
ReplyDeleteAnd I've recently become a coffee purist--only black. None of that sugar and cream to corrupt the goodness. It's how I've come to find that McDonald's really does brew better coffee than Tim Horton's.
As eloquent as you are with your poetry pertaining to this particular morning beverage, you have still not converted me to coffee. I still believe in nothin' but orange juice in the mornin'.
ReplyDelete