Araby, Again

Every time I fall for love,
Araby, again!
Every time my foolish, smitten heart considers vases
filled with glowing purple daffodils,
Araby, again!
Every day, I wake to blinding yellow starlight beaming warmth and joy upon my face;
early hours passing
‘til my ivory bedspread makes me sweat uncomfortably.
I rise and shuffle through familiar halls to stacks of dirty plates and cups and spoons.
I fumble with my trusted coffee pot; feel the fresh aroma sparking in my nose.
I wait and wait, anxious for a sip of sultry brew to
crack and shake away my shell of morning’s discontent, but no!
Today, the product comes out cold and weak.
My taste buds weep.
Then I catch a ray of 10:10 sunlight in my brain...
They sell coffee pots at Araby!
Brand new pots with twenty functions! Bright, shiny, colorful; sleek, black, chrome...
This one brews Cappuccino in two time zones!
I sense my reason, hiding like my shadow in the lunch-time sun,
eluding me, haunting me.
I buy three.
In the parking lot, the big one won’t fit in my car.
I leave it there.
At home, the red one makes the coffee taste like television.
And this one gives directions in six languages... not mine.
I plop into my chair and cry; I want coffee, now!
I sigh, because I glimpse Café Instantané upon my shelf...
And I think, perhaps, I‘ll settle for it in the end.
But, no... not yet! I rattle violent twilight from my stubborn skull
and write a poem: Bittersweet Exaltations of Coffee.

Hot liquid on my lips, steaming, biting brew;
Sugar pours smooth
From the mouth of the hard-card box,
Dissolving in my cup; a hundred wooden stirrers
Swirling flavor through a galaxy of half-sweet cream.

I can taste it in my dreams.
Araby, again!