DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Makes Coffee

Hey.

Here's this week's Divorced Dad poem.

A Divorced Dad Makes Coffee

Despite the sleeping pill,

He shivers, wide awake.  4:03am.

Awake with a blanket of anxiousness.

Mistakes the second pillow for a stranger’s

Coupled shoulder.  Just for a second.

Just enough to bribe his hopes.

Slaps his feet on the hardwood floor.

Shuffles to the kitchen.

Searching for a ritual.  Opens the cupboard,

And out scampers an unaware cockroach.

He collects the French press, the grinder,

Leans against the sticky silverware drawer,

Jammed tight with metal and takeout menus,

Pries it open.   Takes out the measuring spoon.

Places each pieces in a row on a flat towel.

In order.    Measuring cup in hand,

He fills it with filtered water,

And softly pours it into an electric kettle.

Flicks the switch, feels the coil at the bottom begin

To hum to life.   Opens the vacuum-sealed jar

Of coffee beans, inhales the initial scent. 

Lightly shakes them into the grinder, and closes the lid.

Three quick pulses at three seconds.

Then, artfully measured with the spoon, scooped

Into the press.  The kettle percolates, the switch pops

To life.   He yanks the cord from the wall.  Pours the water

Into the quiet coffee grounds, stirs them, set the timer.

Adds a pinch of kosher salt, stirs again. Begins to clean.

Scrubbing down the grinder. Drying the kettle.

Searching for the cockroach and his kin.

Timer beeps.  He steadies the wire mesh, hooks it

Onto the rim, and leans, breath by breath.

The liquid makes a quiet, compressed sound,  shhh shhh

Pooling from the pores of the press. 

He readies a cup, some sugar,   Tips the amber magic

Into his glass.  Combines the white, impacted grains of sweet

Sensation.   And it’s done.  Thirty five minutes passed.

Sun not yet a visitor.   He sips his coffee.  He does not smile.