I reached for a cup with stripes in the cupboard,
setting among the ivory porcelain others,
and after putting it down on the marbled counter
I waited for the coffee to spit and sputter.
I poured from the carafe to the cup with the stripes
and added sweetener from a yellow packet, twice.
I stirred with a long-stemmed spoon, and thus
the coffee swirled and swirled.
I confess among the rivers in my mind
I counted the swirls encompassing time.
Somewhere there adding some milk in a dollop,
I came up with this veiled verse of codswallop.
If you’ve read this far thinking I’ve something to say,
maybe it’s just that I like my coffee this way.
Or perhaps my own struggles in crafting aright
this poem’s distraction is less of a fight.
The coffee in the striped cup has a caramel hue,
is sweetened with a bitterness aftertaste too,
Like many poems that I’ve already done,
it’s finished, and the cup sits in the sink in the sun.