Ode to Coffee

Ode to Coffee

Ernie’s voicemail says, you’re gonna love this…buy it ‘fore they go outta biness. Look atch yer email.

…each batch of coffee roasted on order. Shade grown. Bird friendly. Pesticide free. Vacuum packed. Ground. Arrives in seven days.

The payment plan for my $3,000 hospital bill is a hundred dollars a month. This month I click on Ernie’s suggestion and spend the hundred on coffee.

Dark roast. Single origin. Guatemala. The three most important criteria for a good cup. Makes no difference how you cook it after that. I do French press. Cold brewed French press. Spray cold water over six scoops to fill a plastic carafe at night and plunge the slurry mash in the morning. A lifetime ago I acquired a porcelain cup at the farmer’s market on the River Ilen, Skibbereen, West Cork. Nothing wrong with microwave coffee and a dollop of cream in that porcelain cup. 

The goofy fidgets move out as I sip my morning coffee. Am I a cliche? An old woman watching crows on the ledge, drinking coffee from her favorite souvenir cup? No screens. No radio. No TV. Henry the dog snuggling beside. The worries and the fears, in their moments, flitting away.

Oh coffee. 

You wake me up.

You settle me down. 

You take me to the cleaners.