Ode to Coffee
Some think you are empty, disgusting, void of
true taste. Misunderstood are you,
hot drink of mine; you who oozes warmth
and understanding, that quenches my
desire for peace, or inspiration, from
this ivory demitasse or mug,
sometimes tall or grande
and in an excepetion,
venti.
Oh coffee, depart from my lips
only when I depart from this earth-
for whom can I rely on for anonymous trust
who never judges, doesn't impair
(unless a five shot mocha is in order)
or doesn't deceive?
You awake my senses,
every morning, in my pot,
and like my dog, you're alway there,
wherever I roam ...
even on every corner,
in most large cities.
Coffee, my love, may you stay
at my side
... until I feel like tea.
-Heather Spiva
