Giving up Coffee for Good

At the destruction of the world I sipped coffee that was too hot.

Like everyone else, I’ll guess, I didn’t hear the explosions.

Just a bit before, I remember thinking that I should give up cream and sugar,

learn to take my coffee black, perhaps lose some weight this way,

maybe take up jogging again.

I watched the sun come up, seated on my lānai,

then headed inside to see on CNN what was up in the real world.

Tensions had stretched, I knew, everywhere to breaking point.

My cookie was a luscious lemon one, and I’d only had a couple bites,

so I could still savor that perfect combination of the bitter and the sweet,

before excess dulls your taste buds with the monotony of too much flavor.

I switched on the TV and jumped into reporting about the start of World War Three.

I recalled how my father had served in the Second War a long time ago.

His was such a big one that everyone thought it would be the last.

Alas, it was only the last one to get numbered; there’s always a war on.

And here we are again, I thought, sipping my coffee to clear my palette

of the bitter and the sweet.

I put my cup down as I watched the President speak,

got down on my knees on cue, “Just so we all know,” he said,

“that at this point the rest is pray, and when you’ve said Amen,

stay on your knees and start to pray again.”

I was never particularly religious, yet here I was on the floor.

I almost couldn’t believe it, bit another piece of cookie,

and blowing on the steaming liquid, took my last sip of coffee.

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