Pete Lee on the Other Side of the
COFFEE, I LOVE YOU.
I love waking up
to your fragrance
pouring from my 12-cup
timer-activated auto-drip,
like a woman who has
rolled naked down a dirt hill
soaking wet. You vie with
cigarettes for my affections,
occasionally pulling ahead.
You are so hot, strong,
and black, like the girl
who came to my apartment
when I was 20 and gave me
a massage when I was in bed
with the flu and had
already missed three days
of work at the
coffee distributing company
on 7th St. in L.A. where
she and I worked at the time.
You're my girl
now, though, coffee,
that brief fling not amounting
to a hill of beans. I love you
even when you make me angry,
finding myself shouting
into the telephone about
the timely processing of deposits
received by my credit union via
the U.S. mail. Even
when you keep me up
half the night before the
first day at my new job --
cursing you, cursing my need
for your mind-changing effects
since I quit the sauce --
coffee, I love you still.
© Copyright Pete Lee 2006