490


vacuum seal popping
our first morning long ago
the fresh roasted smell

六十六

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by Categories: Bruce Jewett, coffee, Family, haiku, marriage, poem, poems, poetry, Relationships, Rokuju RokuTags: , , , , 4 Comments

4 thoughts on “490”

  1. I had but one cup o’ coffee in ’15. Mayhap I’ll reach my three-cup limit this year. Sis-n-Law came back with fresh beans to roast and promises to get some growin’ seeds next time. An addict’s song, young Bruce. I’ll stick with tea (beer, booze, wine but my favorite’s still slightly sulpher-tinged well water.

  3. Admitted, more likely. When first out of ITR, the Major at JISO Swamp Lagoon was tossing a football up-n-down in the hallway: I made the universal “I’m open, hit me” sign and he tossed. After the second exchange a SSgt came out and said: “Richards! Make Coffee!!” I asked, “How?” The Major interrupted this exchange: you don’t drink coffee, he asked. “Nossir! Welll, once or thrice I had some but I hadda put bourbon in it to make it palatable.” Saith his Majorness: Richards doan drink coffee, he doan makeit! Thereafter I had a soft spot for Majors.

  4. In my brief but intense time at Campen I was inveighed into making a pot of coffee for the consumption of the brass. Never had before. Barely escaped charges of attempted homicide.

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