My Coffee and Me

 My Coffee and Me

In the early morning dark, so’s not to awaken Patti, I leave the lights off

and zombie-walk to the kitchen.

The Coffee Maker appears in my cloudy vision, a beacon of hope,

and, at least, an eye opener, for me, the sleepwalker.

In my foggy state, I attempt to remember if I prepared the Maker the night before.

I open the lid. “I did,” I cry, as I flick the switch to get the java juices flowing, 

turning mere H2O into Black Water A-Go-Go

I feel my way in the dark for the living room recliner.

Ahhh, I settle into its great, all-engulfing comfort, safe from toe stubbing,

Then, in five, I arise, an upstanding man - sort of - and stumble, again zombie-like,

into the kitchen, mumbling “coffee, coffee, coffee,” and pour a cup of black energy.

The synapses start to fire. I’m awake!

My friend Joe has saved me again.