Great coffee ain’t no antidote
to loneliness, trust me; there’s
a ‘raked-over’ feeling in every
magnificently made cup – but
you won’t have it another way
Won’t drink ‘instant’ on fear of
death claimed vociferously to
an alter ego ( - but who gives
a whit about that useless irk)
as each sip bares your soul
So tell me, who knows better
than he who prepared it you
pontificate – as if in explanation,
but you’re wasting praise you’d
never have listened to anyway …
©1 September 2010, I. D. Carswell
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