And all this written before my first cup-

I rush on the tips of my toes in an

early morning stupor, measuring out grounds

of early morning life from a bag in

the pantry, kept high away from things around.

Coffee, the rich bitter liquor of morning life,

That keeps away the chains of a sleeping head,

best served rich and bitter and black as night

(coffee creamed and sugared  sends me back to bed).

I can measure out my life in drips and drops

dependent on this country’s coffee shops,

running around at top speed all night. No stops.

Strung out on coffee beans and espresso shots.

       I'm dependent on this caffeinated spree,

       and so it’s encroaching chains I do not see.