Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

Something About Coffee That’s Brewing

Title, my darling:
I’m not having a second cup of coffee because of your dad.

When we visit, I have to take that small cup.
From cupboard where I’ve stared, he extracts and places a small ceramic receptacle
in my hand. I eye it from the ground with frown.

By the Keurig, cold it stands from early morn, a near empty pot.
But, want to top off the cold with new brew, via K-cup,
temper temperature right.

He’s been busy cleaning one dish in a standing soapy bath,
dishwasher idle since Thanksgiving.
Now, I’m in his hands.

I must have a pillow-creased, dull expression, as he
takes over the machine,
because I press to send 8 ounces of Donut Shop delight.

He says you want 10, it won’t fill.
I say, I like 8. Press.

He can hear me, in my space, but
like he forgot our meet at the summit
less than 30 seconds ago
presses the 10
button
again.

That’s how he does it. That’s what is right.
I have an opinion, but…keeee-errrrr --
it flows;
down
it goes.

Not enough room for creamer, when it tops to brim.
He’s moved on.
I bend at the counter, siphon, lips to rim because of him.

But still, spillage, and lift to discover my loss,
loosed to glue-bond laminate. And, from over the sides
more brown goes.

Hard to stay kilter, if not always off.

I sip and wipe, mop the cup round
left to right, at least twice, to the flat under, and
return sop wash rag to an empty sink moat.

With one hand squee-eeze, rinse,
hang flat a crochet cloth on swan-neck, water breather, only to see
more brown puddle a work-space.

One more draught, set it down, clean again
before area re-zoned habitable for …

After awhile, finally recliner-adapted and content,
I decide...my first decision of the day
of my own?

Merge last of carafe with my luke-leftover, and nuke,
and compliment the freshened brew …
savor with elapsed time in cranial expansion — horizon finally arriving.

Just, not…quite done.
A brief respite from living room, before return … when
my right hand pet dethroned?!

I’m sorry. My coffee no there.

To the dish rack, surmising before the realization:
on left resides that cup, clean
per standard.

It’s nearing noon: mow the neighbor’s yard,
bring in another’s mail, drive another vet
to dermatologist with your wealth-of-heart, busy-body man.

Never leave half your life blood in a container alone,
at your in-law’s
until it’s high noon. Strike that. Never. Ever.


6.2.24
6.8.24 edits, mostly structure, articles and small grammar changes

6.2.24 Okay, I can return to normal activity, after I get out of this Griffith jail.