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
Nice posting I like coffee and your poem.
ReplyDeletemaking me want to brew some myself--wonderful poem
ReplyDeleteHello, Lily! This is a beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteHave a lovely week and happy A to Z!!
Thank you folks- I do love my coffee!!
ReplyDeleteIntriguing coffee source...sort of makes me happy I'm a tea drinker. Your poem is perfect.
ReplyDeleteI 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.
ReplyDeleteYour poem is lovely! It flows. :-)
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 :-)
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you!
'Underbelly of mackerel cloud'
ReplyDelete!
'Close my eyes to focus on
The fusion, the notes of coffee
Dark cocoa musk, bituminous
Coal, tar, smoke, burnt sugar'
!!
!
The coffee helps! :-)
ReplyDelete