I tilt back the coffee mug
the top covering a crime.
I tilt back the coffee mug
with one thing on my mind.
I know my coffee is blazing hot.
I know where my coffee is not.
I think I drank it half way down.
I tilt my mug looking for that delicious brown.
I tip back the mug further
and sweat beads on my neck with fervor,
but the coffe won’t come
I’m afraid there could be none.
But I fear the more I tilt,
the prophecy will come to bear,
a tidal wave of scalding drink
will sear my face and leave no hair.
Coffee Poem
Could there be a fragile bubble,
