V: Vietnamese Weasel


The Wishbone Alphabet – an experiment, of course, with attitude, life and the eponymous soup.




Specific moments of deliberate enjoyment can be embodied in a scrumptiously eye popping cup of coffee. Still love a splash of Java Sumatra, and Guatemalan Elephant, but since the discovery of Vietnamese Weasel, Va Va Voom! The aroma of it sends me… back to my honeymoon (explaining the big love hit) back through history; into a place of hot fascination, a place that steps with me, out of time, into the construction of a personal mythology. Specific moments of deliberate enjoyment can perk up everything, even if you wake up too early.

My decision is to make coffee
And sit, watching the colours
Change, outside; the pink
Underbelly of mackerel cloud

Somewhere in the fridge is a tin
Of coffee. This week we are drinking
Vietnamese Weasel. I picture the sacks
Of beans on the quayside in a monsoon wind

Maybe this started as a practical joke
But whoever ground up the beans from
The weasel’s poo was on to a good thing
Although the flavour in this tin is synthesised

While coffee brews in the jug, I will
Be organised, drag the washing from
The lovely machine that undertook
Hard work for me as I slept

Whirl of wet fabric in the basket
Waits for me to locate some boots
And a mug for the coffee, and wonder
If it’s too early to wake the dog

Dog thumps her tail in a slow beat
I turn off the lamp we forgot last night
And gather up the glasses and appraise
The unfinished list of things to do

The washing up is waiting, is one of
Those little repetitions that marks out
Your life, this history in coffee rings, in
The medium of smeared food stains

Two boots located, the washing is brought
To the line, another confirmation of our
Continuing adventures, pegged item by item
Optimistic plastic fastens the corners

Occupational debris stuffs up the shed
This morning the light strikes a low
Wall of old car batteries, behind me
My shadow slopes on an old door

Close my eyes to focus on
The fusion, the notes of coffee
Dark cocoa musk, bituminous
Coal, tar, smoke, burnt sugar




Comments

Gossip_Grl said…
Nice posting I like coffee and your poem.
25 April 2012 at 15:02
Lynn Proctor said…
making me want to brew some myself--wonderful poem
25 April 2012 at 16:04
Laura S. said…
Hello, Lily! This is a beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing!

Have a lovely week and happy A to Z!!
25 April 2012 at 20:23
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you folks- I do love my coffee!!
25 April 2012 at 22:02
Stephanie V said…
Intriguing coffee source...sort of makes me happy I'm a tea drinker. Your poem is perfect.
25 April 2012 at 22:05
Teresa Cypher said…
I am never sure, lol...is this civet coffee you are writing about? People draw such arbitrary lines about they things they will and won't consume. :-) I am a tea drinker. Hubby and I just sat on the front porch, watched the sun go down--peeked through emerging leaves. Next week, we won't be able to see it from the porch. While on the porch, I had a cup of mint tea.

Your poem is lovely! It flows. :-)
26 April 2012 at 01:55
Lisa Southard said…
It is the same thing- the bean goes through the digestive system- at first it's the only chance the workers get to try the coffee, and then the rich people realise that workers' coffee tastes better. Is a bit weird! I like herbal tea too, nettle is my favourite :-)
And thank you!
26 April 2012 at 12:17
Suze said…
'Underbelly of mackerel cloud'

!

'Close my eyes to focus on
The fusion, the notes of coffee
Dark cocoa musk, bituminous
Coal, tar, smoke, burnt sugar'

!!

!
29 April 2012 at 14:05
Lisa Southard said…
The coffee helps! :-)
29 April 2012 at 19:59
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ghost Dog And The Wobbles Of Progress

Image
‘1/1/22 Saturday Last night just before midnight, we strolled down the dark lane, wine glasses in hand; spotted constellations, watched distant fireworks. This morning Dog had done several splats of foulness on the living room carpet. HNY! Also this morning: In bed, chinking coffee cups, we say- what will this year bring? We hope it’s a track and a toilet shed.’ Well, we have a track on our land, all the way from top to bottom gate. It’s not as finely finished as we’d hoped, but it is here. We have a toilet shed, and it’s not the quality lumber we had hoped for, but it is built, and it will suffice. Everything is layering up, however slow or wonky: up! There were, too, events that we did not foresee or hope for. The van engine blew up. We can’t fix it. No one wishes to buy it, at least not yet. It will be utilised as a winter shelter on our land until a better idea/miracle arrives. A painful chunk of land fund went to buy a replacement vehicle, which is much cheaper to run so there is
Read more

Winterlove

Image
On this bitter cold morning we wake, expecting the heavy frost yet no less delighted, no less surprised. Coffee and coats and boots are employed for warmth. We venture outside, we pour up and down the garden, exclaiming each treasure found- Spider webs are made of barbed crystals! The sky above is cornflower blue, the greenery bold as summer but ice edged, bejewelled. The horizon lost in mist. Only here exists. Mr and me, like two oversized children, our fingers stabbed with cold, are easing ice shapes out of containers; we are stacking the shapes into ice sculptures, making oosh noises of hurt, and ahh noises of joy: it’s beautiful! It’s alien! My poor fingers! Because ice melts, we seize the moment. See how impermanence is pain and wonder? See how it drives us into discovery? See how impermanence is the extraordinary in the ordinary? Every day there is something that you will never see again - it’s that, or never hold it in your sight at all. Every day there is something that you w
Read more

Eulogy For Dog

Image
We had wanted a puppy and while at 10 months old she was not quite that, we saw her in the rescue home and we knew she was right for us. She was a liver and white Springer Spaniel, real name Midi (not too big, not too small) with a slender, tentative form. I respected her privacy so online she was known as Dog- many of you, Dear Readers, have watched her grow up with us, and will be sorry to learn that her adventures have ended now: please read on, come with us, it will be okay. The hesitancy young Midi Spaniel held towards her new home was reserved for indoors. Outdoors she was absurdly reckless, usually clumsy. She pelted over barbed wire, through thorns, jumped five bar gates; she threw herself into the sea, the river, the lake, the muddy puddles, rolled merrily in dung- she hated the bath. She did not much care for the company of other dogs, though with persistence she learned tolerance, and once fell in reciprocal love. She adored children. Children could be trained to play fetch
Read more