Skip to main content

Morning Coffee Harmony

The espresso machine at the Café
Comes from a family of basement boilers
Torturing water to a soprano scream
We speak incompletely, punctuated
With pressure-cooker protests


Only Gentle Tom, in the corner
Ringed by an electronic fence
Rides the wave of the espresso boiler
Like a neighborhood Pavarotti
Sailing solo above the cappuccino
Like a tenor in Milan


Joel roams the late summer room
Fly swatting a squadron of open-door
Attackers, making Dennis wince
At his food-inspection fiasco
While we politely and gently
Hit ourselves on our balding heads
Like Norwegians finding truth


Mari hasn't seen such happy flies
Since she rode a pony to country school
After milking time was done
Wondering if our barnyard humor
Is the common element

John, who cannot forget a friend
Or Henry's English wives by name
Frowns at how the whistling blast
Turns trivia to temporary rubble
Building quickly back again
To an orderly acrostic memory
Recalling the brand name 
Of the fly sprayer on the family farm

Jeff says Apple has an app for flies
And flips his finger up and down
As if to itch something electronic
To make his I-Phone buzz like a wasp


Joel shows us how high he used to
Lift his arm before he can't do it now
While Dale inter-espresso-mittently
harmonizes with the general hum
Explaining that he has to weed his drive
Before his neighbor turns him in


Over in the corner, Tom stands
Orchestral, presiding the internal chaos
Which from across the street
Is a symphony of morning coffee harmony
.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

That's all we want: fairness! Not more guns and more war! Fairness!

The five police officers who were killed in Dallas are certainly not the officers who killed innocent citizens. There is more than enough tragedy to go around. "What is happening to our country?", Mari asked this morning. I had no answer.  We do have an answer.  We do not want to say it. There are lots of answers, all of them pertinent. We are a racist society, like most human societies. We are a society in the midst of enormous changes-- social, political, economic--and we do not know what to do about it. We are divided unsustainably into absurdly rich, and an enormous number of crumbling middle class families, and poor. We have guns everywhere; military guns, guns just for killing people, cheap guns, heroes carrying guns into churches and supermarkets, idiots who think guns ought to be allowed in bars and schools and ball games and beauty parlors and political rallies. Our political process is almost useless. There are good people in Congress, but there...

On Watching a Formerly Sane Man Descend into Abject Religion

If you read the previous post, you know the apparatus, pictured here, is a torture machine. There are ten of them in our house, purportedly to circulate air to dry out all the problems caused by a water leak. We live in Tucson:  it has not rained in Tucson since the Gadsden Purchase. A mudslide the size of the one in Washington State could course through our neighborhood and it would be bone-dry and stone-hard before it quit moving. I suspect it is the CIA, and probably the Border Patrol! We are, after all, only about a hundred miles from the border. I fully expect a large suburban assault vehicle to pull up to the house, and for lots of people with UPPER CASE LETTERS on their shirts to interrogate us, and I will have to explain that all the drugs I use come from Walgreens and Total Wine. But it won't work.  Our minds are going. We are getting short with each other and, if they promise to turn off the fans, I will confess to having invented the Arab...