Coffee Clutch

     Public Domain Image

The business man at 

the table behind me

tries, through his phone,

to logic someone 

into not to cutting her hair.

At first I cannot tell 

if it is a daughter or a lover,

but it becomes evident

as he pleads for her 

to forget boys,

go back to school.

He offers advice, favors, sugary bribes.

Then, in a worried-father voice

he says he loves her.

But I cannot hear 

if she loves him back.

This is based loosely on a converstaion I shamelessly eavesdropped on today at the coffee shop, and it's for PAD and NaPoWriMo.

Java Vino

I coffee my way

through another grey morning

jittering into an afternoon slump

until it’s time to wine down

with the sunset.

This is for PAD and NaPoWriMo, day 20. 

You Never Know

Despise not small things, either for evil or good, for a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wealth. - A spark is a little thing, yet it may kindle the world.  – Martin Farquhar Tupper

when Kate comes home

she falls asleep on the couch

every night

with the TV on.

In the morning,

I turn off the set, pick up her

plate, Kleenex, water;

Otis wakes her up.

Fifteen pounds of

of super-charged, tail wagging,

face licking, fur

planted on her chest

is surprisingly a way

she (mostly) likes to wake up.

I bring her coffee and tell her

“budge up, ya great lump”

and we giggle, because

we read all the Harry Potter’s together,

loved them.

Then we talk.

Last year, for a little while,

I got it in my head that

I resented picking up

bringing coffee,

every morning,

Then one day, from the next, room

I overheard her tell her friend,

“I love going home –

my mom brings me coffee,

every morning

it’s great.

You just never know

what will make a memory.

PAD, NaPoWriMo Day 12