Coffee
"Coffee"
I have never been entirely comfortable
With buying coffee on my drive home-
Somehow, it always feels like I'm stealing
From my father, his daily stops at the gas station
On the way to work for a dose of coffee and cream.
It seems like his drink, his mark of wisdom and age,
And for me to drink it, with my mere twenty years,
Seems to be presumptuous,
As though I were demanding by force something
Which had been earned by dint of long years
Of waiting and watching and growing older.
And yet-
There's something in the alchemy of it-
The way the half-and-half falls to the bottom,
And then rises upward, like a tiny Hiroshima
Swirling around into the rest of the cup,
Stealing the darkness of the coffee,
But never quite finishing its dispersal
Until the spoon is dipped inside
And spun slowly around to stir.
There's the slight burn as it goes down,
A little too hot for ready consumption,
The tingle in the stomach as it floods,
The soft, assured murmur as the coffee is set down
And folded, old dollar bills pass from my hand
To the cashier's, to be exchanged for
Cool silver and copper coins, which are then
Safely placed into my pocket,
And then the warm grip of the styrofoam
As I walk out to my car
And get in, ready to start the car in Hannibal
in anticipation of turning it off at home.
-5/10/2006
I have never been entirely comfortable
With buying coffee on my drive home-
Somehow, it always feels like I'm stealing
From my father, his daily stops at the gas station
On the way to work for a dose of coffee and cream.
It seems like his drink, his mark of wisdom and age,
And for me to drink it, with my mere twenty years,
Seems to be presumptuous,
As though I were demanding by force something
Which had been earned by dint of long years
Of waiting and watching and growing older.
And yet-
There's something in the alchemy of it-
The way the half-and-half falls to the bottom,
And then rises upward, like a tiny Hiroshima
Swirling around into the rest of the cup,
Stealing the darkness of the coffee,
But never quite finishing its dispersal
Until the spoon is dipped inside
And spun slowly around to stir.
There's the slight burn as it goes down,
A little too hot for ready consumption,
The tingle in the stomach as it floods,
The soft, assured murmur as the coffee is set down
And folded, old dollar bills pass from my hand
To the cashier's, to be exchanged for
Cool silver and copper coins, which are then
Safely placed into my pocket,
And then the warm grip of the styrofoam
As I walk out to my car
And get in, ready to start the car in Hannibal
in anticipation of turning it off at home.
-5/10/2006