Posts Tagged Coffee
She spoke about the hammer,
the battering ram.
I have this battering ram.
It comes from the back of the mind,
but I wanted to correct her –
It is from the bottom of the mind,
trapped under seaweed, imperceptible.
This is where it comes from, the sickness,
the deep maroon plague and
long tree trunk attached and
it sneaks up on me and
hammers and hammers.
My forehead expands.
It has giant bubbles growing larger and
my face is red like I have been drinking
a fifth of McCormick’s every night
for 50 years, and
the birds seem to fly in circles,
but they are simply ensuring that they don’t fly
anywhere near me.
Big birds with grey wings
like the patio of a building
where the executives go, the 7th floor,
the top floor, and since their company is so fabulous,
they are always on the balcony, and
they are always full of booze.
Big booze, in decanters tied around their necks, and
when the sun is setting,
it does not set on our executives.
it sets on the big bubbles coming out of my forehead,
but I sneak in the grocery store and
fill a bag with too many coffee beans , but
I’m able to close the top and twist the tie,
and the checker, as usual, doesn’t know
what number to punch
into her computer.
She looks at me as if
she might kill me,
as the intensity
Her fingers are quivering.
I think she might smoke a joint.
$8.99 per pound I tell her,
but she needs the fucking code and
doesn’t know that coffee is under C
in the product list,
but finally she punches it and
says “Yay,” and
she looks at me and
she asks, “Is that right?”
and I tell her,
“Why yes it is,
per pound, just as I thought.
Time blows away.
Head hurts like drinking days.
Taking so long to make coffee,
not the brewer but me to get it ready.
Cleaning the basket,
skipping heating the pot,
it takes too long.
The evergreen, the old toy tree,
the now stately king, is brilliant this morning,
shining in a fluorescent dance.
It takes so long and the green pains my eyes.
This is not what I want.
Taking too long,
the beans are ground
in fifteen seconds,
but the flakes are floating in every
mild spot on the counter
and it will take so long to pour
new grounds into the filter
in the basket without adding
to the messy counter.
The evergreen crawls inside me,
scraping the fungus inside my skin
and grinding my nerves
When I finally push the button
to brew, relieved that coffee will be here soon,
and while I wait,
I’ll look for medicines
that will mend my broken wires.
I need to tell the boss
So instead, I email my wife
to seek her superlative advice.
I ask, “Should I do it
at the end of the day?”
She says, “You better
do it now,
in case she leaves early for the day,”
which she’s never done.
(My boss, that is, has never left early.)
So, I notice
my to-go coffee cup
still has a bar code
sticker. It is damned
important that I remove it.
Now, not later.
So, I take some deep breaths
and sip the coffee
to get ready,
like it might take twelve hours
My mood is on her fingertips and toes this morning. Her thighs are weak so she looks funny being on all four, but she is walking slowly enough so as to make the rest of us not notice her.
The floor has grit from the furry creatures who traipse in and out, enjoying and at the same time ignoring the effect of the grime that they bring in from the outside which has been plastered with mud from the shitty weather. My accompanist, my mood, she feels all of the strands of fur from that Golden Retriever and wonders if there will ever be cleanliness. She knows that I will always insist on dogs being fully in my life even if it means I live in a shack. She contemplates the effort to clean and the likelihood of the smooth surfaces lasting longer than a few hours. She longs to provide me with inspiration to do more to keep a clean house.
Next, of course, her thoughts slide to the ever-depressing pile of papers which have little but the most chaotic of organization. She scolds me and tells me that I am a beast. I am longing for my coffee and not in the mood to argue. There are millions of Read the rest of this entry »