Let Me Espresso My Thoughts

 (Response poem to Billy Collins Morning pp. 31)

Alas, you love mornings more than the night,

 I understand, but I must implore you to try,

 The elixir of life under the umbrella of stars,

 With the ambiance of music and espresso healing a writer’s plight,

 

Why is it only morning you lack this despair?

 For me, daybreak lacks a certain flair,

 Until I roll out of bed and shuffle directly to the machine,

 To prep my freshly ground espresso beans,

 

No cold water will do,

 Nor brush to the mane will it tame,

 The single thing my body can execute,

 Is sway in cadence as the blessed espresso brews,

 

My vitamins give me no hope,

 Nor the books lining my shelves,

 Even with an open window or two,

 The hour has already soured my essence,

 And with espresso, do I allow it to soothe,

 My poor aching soul and the heart that awoke unfathomably bruised,

If we have anything in common, it’s the loath of the afternoon,
 In the depths of my own despair, I’ll settle for cold brew, too,

 Even with the cello music playing softly in my ear,
 And heavy clouds gently rolling in on the mist,

 I still love my nighttime espresso enjoyment,

 Mostly, when I haven’t collapsed out of my blessed bed,

 And ended up a crumpled, under-caffeinated mess on my knees instead.