i’ve gotten really into drinking robusta coffee,
not for any particular reason,
or at least, the reason is kinda dumb and i’d rather not go into it,
but if you insist,
i’ve been drinking robusta, rather than arabica,
because everyone crows on and on about how great and wonderful
arabica is and how horrible robusta is,
and i’m a bit of a contrarian,
so i figured i’d drink my caffeine as a please,
no matter the species!
thick aroma wafts through the air, sipping coffee with a vacant stare,
the taste is bitter, the flavor bland,
a pale imitation of nostalgic receptors firing off into obscure directions
but still I drink it, day after day, decaf coffee that’s here to stay,
a small comfort, a ritual, a habit kept like a secret lover sent off into the night,
a keyboard typing out a last will with the delete button
for in this cup of memory and forget, somehow I find a way to keep the past a secret
bittersweet reminder of what once was, a faint echo of a time that’s now lost
moments of reflection and pause,
the last drop, dripped, spilled, as the doctor note says, no more caffeine, no more thrills
Fred Aiken Writing 