Ode to a cuppa joe

Disclaimer: I am not a poet, and this is not poetry. (This will be shocking news to some, I realize.) I’m just trying to find little wisps of joy in my everyday life. And a cuppa joe produces a giddy kind of joy on an otherwise mundane day.

Besides, the only kind of award I could win with my “poetry” is a spot in the Bad Poetry Contest hall of fame. If they had a hall of fame. (Do they?)


The trouble with TV
It is two-dimensional
Ask my dogs.
Folgers, Maxell House
Even “Hal and Duke”
Can’t make me want a cup of coffee.
They can’t make me a cup of coffee.

But my pals at MorningSide can.

They know me.
No whipping cream, save the sleeve
(While saving the planet)
Grande, whole milk, the real deal.

The aroma as we waft to my car
On the air of a precious Friday morning
Makes me want to stop right there and sip.
No … slurp!
It makes a workday morning seem …


The aroma can turn a steaming cup of brew
Into liquid gold.

It can turn a cuppa joe into
A transcendental experience,
Spur me to write bad poetry.

Behold, the elegance,
The power,
Of a good brew.

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