Posts Tagged ‘coffee


Going To Jerusalem

I’m going to Jerusalem and I’m going to take
Whatever’s within arm’s reach in my bedroom:
Clearasil, vanilla body spray,
A carton of organic potato-leek soup,
Converse high-tops, Converse low-tops,
And Goldfish and Goldfish and Goldfish.
Graham crackers, oyster crackers,
Leopard print slippers,
A clock radio, a bag of pretzels,
Too short pants let down but never to be hemmed,
A fuschia blouse, a pink plaid cap,
And purses and purses and purses.
A Snuggie, a baby blue Sharpie,
An empty Seattle’s Best can left from the time tried to wean ourselves from Starbucks.
A hand-painted mug, two bottles of name brand grape juice,
Paperback copy of Orwell’s “Animal Farm”,
A dark gray fedora with a lighter gray band
And sock yarn and hat yarn and blue jeans.
How can it be when we played this game as kids
We never thought to pack any of these things?



I’m becoming concerned about what Dad eats
But Mom says we can’t control it.
A cup of oatmeal
Mug of 1% milk
Half a can of peaches
With his morning pills
A retainer band
Cork stopper for a jar
Four tiny rubber tires
And their antique police car
Two slices of bologna
A burger with Tillamook cheese
A coffee drink
More milk
Three wayward Canadian geese
Grape juice
Some horseradish
The remote for Mom’s TV
A baby gate
Candy canes from 2006
Our coffee table
Two slices of Cheddar
A bottle of Diet Coke
One Chinese dinner
With fortune cookie
A wood-handled leather jump rope
I’ve been very concerned about what Dad eats
But Mom-
Mom was right; we couldn’t control it.


Never Minds

coffee’s gone; she didn’t
make more. she’ll blame it on her
age but she’s just mean.


Things We Love

We love the fluffy lamby clouds,
Sapphire skies that hold them;
Plush cashmere sweaters at The Gap,
The well-trained staff who fold them.

We love our morning cup of joe,
Kind souls who brew it for us;
Cats that perk up when we get home;
Usually they ignore us.

We love new shoes, dark chocolate bars,
How trees bud in the spring,
But darn it! Rudy Fernandez
Surpasses everything.


Change Of Heart

When I first saw you I thought you were tasteless.
Yeah, odorless and colorless too. Not worth a second look.
Suitable for washing a car or filling a dog’s dish,
Maybe cooking some food in; definitely not drinking.
But you’ve changed.
In mere moments you’ve gone from blah to brilliant.
So rich
So strong
So dark and mysterious,
Baby, you’ve got my rapt attention.
The other girls were right; full-bodied is the way to go.
I want us spending every morning together and
Maybe a lot of the evenings, too.
I can’t wait to devote hours to learning all about you;
Discovering your every nuance.
From now on it’s gonna be Coltrane- don’t mean Robby- and you and me.
I mean it, baby. You’re a part of me; you flow in my veins.
You’re my life.
My life’s blood.
Most of all, you’re coffee.


O Bus Driver

O Bus Driver,
How easy it would be to fall in love with you.
Punctual, dependable, compassionate-
So many of the things I’ve been taught to look for in a man.
Guiding this carriage along its designated route,
Up streets and down, stopping at the appointed places,
Greeting each new guest with respect and humor.
Does it ever grow tedious? Do you feel the need to slink
The bus down an alley? Take the freeway exit and keep going?
Stage an impromptu tour of the places visiting celebrities
Breathtakingly, rioutously vomited up their overindulgence
Of the local microbrews? Wherever you’re going, take me with you.
O Barista,
With your memory for who ordered this or that and which
Drink should be half-caf and which skim,
You would never forget my birthday or where we first met
Or the song we were dancing to at your niece’s wedding
When I got goosebumps. Your steps behind the counter are
So sure and so deft, you would be a great dancer.
I would thrill to see the designs you make for me in the crema
Each morning and each evening I would kiss away the hurt
From the places you burned yourself with the steam.
Pizza-maker my Pizza-maker,
I see you shaping the dough, kneading, rolling, tugging gently.
I know my flesh would be like new clay in your strong hands;
I grow hypnotized watching them until with split-second perfection
You toss the dough into the air and catch it.
A shaft of light, diffused by your raised arm, touches your forehead,
Gilding a trickle of sweat. It is Alph, the sacred river and
I am already in love with you.
And you, Meter Man, risking derision and abuse to bring order to our block;
Old Woman, sweeping the leaves from before your storefront,
And plucking them from the flowerbeds;
And the Old Man coming into the shop, serenading us,
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” flows out from him, the rich timbre of his voice
Paying false to his fragile bones;
O Bicyclist,
You show such care: checking the lock twice, arranging the chain just so,
Giving your steed a final reluctant pat, looking back
Even after you’ve tucked a wheel under your arm and walked away.
I know you would take good care of me too
And I would love you all the more for it; we would love each other.
But it’s still the beginning of February and I should finish this coffee before it grows cold.



sometimes it comes on so fierce
and so fast it’s hard
to believe it’s falling from
the same sky that showed
us sun and white clouds moments
ago; there’s no time
to put car windows up or
take down drying yarn
before the rain sweeps in: all
you can do is run
for shelter, make some coffee,
listen to the rain
hitting the windows like hand
fulls of gravel, watch
it batter the already
stormworn flag whipping
above the green house next door