The alarm clock rouses me from slumber
my limbs feel like old cucumbers
my eyes feel like I've been sleeping face down in a sandbox
as I try to bring myself back to life
and contemplate the morning's strife
while dragging a plastic rake through my tangled locks
only one thing can make it bearable
while I search for something wearable
and that is a good, strong, black Cuppa Joe
while through morning fog I'm fumin'
it's this that makes me human
as of to face the drudgery I must go.
and when at work I arrive
still wondering if I'm alive
and whether or not the grim Reaper will show up
this advice i freely give
to those who wish to live
don't talk to me 'til I've had a second cup!
machines run on gasoline fuel
electricity powers many tools
but this human being runs on Colombian beans
just give me a Cuppa Joe
if you want to see me go
and keep the lifer-juice flowing by any means.
Author notes
While serving in the Engineering department of a U.S Navy destroyer tender, I became acquainted with, then addicted to, the "lifer juice", as I frequently needed it to stay conscious during the six-hours-on-six-hours-off watch cycle I was so frequently on, and as it was my responsibilty to make it, I learned to make it strong enough to walk on it's own!
My name is Kurt Cook. I am 43 years old, and I am recently married. I live in Montana with my wife and two rambunctious cats, Miwnefer and Elphaba.
Written June 14th, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- The Coffee Anthology (Contest) by ea.
500 points, ended June 16, 2006, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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as per the contest notes, please add some bio info with a coffee story and mention of your favorite coffee house, the spicier the notes the better. I am still considering this one but may ask you to tweak it a bit, if you are interested. We can do this by IM. Thank you.
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