Too much cream in my coffee,
not enough coffee in my cream.
In three days the world is
supposed to end and I’m
thinking about French Vanilla.
I like my morning coffee and
if the world is soon to end,
I’d really like to enjoy at least
a few good morning cups.
Without the powdered creamer.
The Mayans had coffee that much
is clear. They didn’t exactly use
it like we do. There’s some evidence
they used it in enemas for religious
purposes. That’ll wake you up.
Rectum? Damn near killed ‘em.
If the world does decide to end
on Friday, if our lease is up and
renovations are needed to clean
up the mess we made, then so
I’ll try to enjoy my coffee and
make due with the cream while
fire erupts from giant fissures
under my feet. I’ll try not to
scream or beg for mercy.
I may shed a tear for the loves I had
and the loves unrequited. I may
regret no smiling children of my
own, but find relief they weren’t
here to see the end.
I’ll wish for one sweeter kiss.
I’ll consider that last screw.
I’ll think of all this wasted
paper with a sense of loss.
I’ll try not to wish for just one
more cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Maybe I’ll just have tea.