What shall I say of coffee?
He is a brown man
Made from soil,
Pressed into shape,
Waxen as a lizard,
Hat white like dried out shells,
Pulling at reins of a rearing horse,
Hooves sharp as pickaxes
Kicking up bright clouds of lime.
Early morning he is a dark and fragrant visitor.
He makes his diffident presence felt—
Memories of fresh bread,
Coffee fragrance is a medicine man
Opening his cabinet
To relieve slumbering burdens,
Heavy luggage hauled around
By traveling wakefulness.
He hands out syrups to sweeten unfulfilled dreams,
Hot poultices to soothe unforgotten nightmares,
Energy drinks to answer a world ceaselessly ringing,
Tonics for the family,
Ointments for friends,
Bandages for the heart.