Coffee

I.

I used to keep fresh beans around
and grind them on demand.
But not for me: I’m bigger on tea.

Here, parked with the hard cider:
a can and a bottle of pre-made brew,
cold pour and so on. What was I 
thinking in late summer?
Dreaming of guests who never came.

IA.

Actually, in the summer
my daughter was drinking daily coffee
and then went off it after I
had laid by this supply.
But I think “dreaming of guests
who never came” sounds better.
Do I need a rhyme for “came,”
or will “dreaming” do the job?

II.

I hate waste, and that
is the bane of any diet.
It’s cold from the floor,
so nuke it in the microwave!

III.

All it takes is a dose of coffee
to make me vibrant with charm—
if by charm you mean a firehose
of information and opinion.
(As my late mother used to tease:
The Oracle has spoken!)

I ought to be teaching this morning
in the week of break
leading up to Christmas!
Students always appreciate passion.

And so do I! Listen!
If you (indefinite you: plural
or perhaps formal) addressed me,
how vividly I would respond!
With what chemically enhanced intensity!

IV.

Quick, write it down,
before I metabolize it all
and return
to my habitual slower burn.

Sibelan Forrester
Morton