Making Coffee

My coffee’s disagreeable today,
and that’s a rare event. I like the brew,
and as a rule what I prepare’s okay
(I find about this drink I love, it’s true
no matter how I make it, it tastes fine).
Why, even recently, with no machine
or filters, I spooned coffee to combine
with seething water, souping my caffeine.

That morning drink was gritty at the end,
but tasted hot and good, and satisfied.
Returning home to use my pot and blend,
I savored what I wanted, till I tried
this morning’s mug, which bitter flavor-failed.
Perhaps the pot (or I) should be descaled.

This entry was posted in Aging, Food, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s