A bad coffee maker threatens world peace. |
This is a tale of detente gone awry, of the murmuring voices heard at the summit, the atmosphere of those heads of state angry, all due to coffee pot mishap, the spray of a maker explosion. Oh Mister Coffee, how tensions had eased, how the nuclear arms race puttered to halt, yet then you splashed hot Joe over Nikita Khruschev,* who at once took his brown shoe, used same as a hammer to table. Kennedy felt java too, his suit stained by a rain; Cuban rich caffeine delicious bean brew, yet he mused sullen remaining so staid, seconds to each grim man powerful worldwide made quick for Scott Towels— cleaning the mess so important, as tempers too needed assuaging. Prime Minister, (Great Britain), he too felt fallout in his thinning hair, tried bawdy levity, shrugged as he eyed Mister Khruschev on the spot. World once on precipice, threats… We will bury you, stained fabric, H-bombs. Short in the maker (that java machine), fist wet in manic pounding, thoughts of a cheap product— leaders of men, politicians so chosen ruing the broken, wishing, perhaps, for things not yet invented, like Keurig. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp 8-23-16 ______ *Nikita Khruschev was the Soviet Premier (USSR) from 1958 to 1964, and he instigated the Cuban Missile Crisis. |