At
the bottom
of every corner store
and coffee shop mug,
there is a collection of
teardrops and coffee-stains.
Waiting
to be gathered
so they can write
their stories in indelible
ink.
Café tables on terrasse drenched in rain ~
everyone’s indoor as if on hold
waiting impatiently for the sun to come out.
April showers bring may flowers
but we aren't happy to pay the price ~
meanwhile the rain stubbornly won't let up.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
He was going to choose coffee.
But this matcha drink intrigued him.
Made him buy it on a lark.
Monday coffee?
Monday Matcha sounds better!
He wanted to share matcha with his coworkers.
But then they would hate him.
Glaring at him as if his clothes were melting away.
And also his hair is dripping with some goo.
They’ve always hated him.
He keeps the matcha a secret.
He hands everyone their coffee drinks.
The lattes, the doubles, even the triples.
He takes a sip of this green drink.
The taste is odd.
Like drinking footprints.
He takes another sip.
The taste is like some person handed him this green drink.
Except it doesn't taste green, or gray, or even orange.
Or floral, or bright, or happy.
He had been drinking coffee since college.
Terrible times.
Do people like matcha?
Do people hate matcha?
They sure hate him.
Yet, somehow the rest of the week was…
Like matcha.
You can’t spit it out.
You can’t undo it.
Everyone hates you.
Matcha Monday…
The coffeeshop asked what he wanted.
And he really didn’t know.
it was the autumn of our lives
being no longer the fools of our youth
that naive twinkle in our eyes long gone
erring these days on the side of caution
our guards wired and circumspect
explanations not needing to be formulated
being much too late to play the lovers' serenade
but still ~ it was pure velvet to the core
AP: 1st place 2025
Energy.
Twirling around, lying down.
But your eyes are going out of focus.
You make a blurry wish.
You wish not to fall through the couch.
Focus, and you’ll be able to sit upright for a minute.
Then sinking, and shrinking will occur with use.
You haven’t had coffee in two days.
But you’re more coffee than ever.
Empty cups and turning them over to wash and dry.
All day, the conveyor belt rolls toward you.
You need to wash huge pots and pans.
The conveyor belt continues.
Cereal and milk, pouring, pouring, pouring all day.
You haven’t gone to the coffeeshop in a week.
Or anywhere.
Just listening to clicking, and shaking sounds.
Trying to listen.
Energy.
But without caffeine.
Is like roller skates within you.
Nothing gets done until nighttime.
Make cookies at 3:00 am.
Come to life.
Dancing cookies.
Coffee.
You still never mailed that electric bill out.
Power down.
Lights out.
But still-
Energy.
Rushing to my coffeeshop rendezvous
For much needed alone time
Claiming my table for one
We all came craving to be quiet
By ourselves together
In silence earbuds firmly in place
Switched off to the world
Tuned out in our bubbles
Sipping delightfully on our solitude
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on September 30, 2019
Zig-Zag
Downtown or on the roadway
zig-zag searching
always for something..
Stopping at a coffeeshop
reaching a place
seemingly removed..
An interruption in
a zig-zag map
with map forgotten..
The coffeeshop was not
a zig stop..or a zag
just momentary..a respite..
Might zig-zag dissolve
right here and now
in this cup of coffee...?
sadness
at the coffeeshop
tearing up
as I hope she shows up
for perhaps the last time