Burnt coffee beans stick on my tongue.
I recognise the taste of ash,
Combined with a hint of sweet sugar.
Strong revitalising magic beans.
Banana breadcrumbs lay still on the plate.
Brown sugar grains float in the ends of the coffee.
An old charity shop book sits worn out on the table’s edge,
The pages have browned
The cover creases are defined
There’s a trace of damp smell,
On the inside is a name,
I can’t read the scrawl,
But inscribed is the year ‘1971’;
The book is older than me.
My Mum once had a bag of flour older than me.
I no longer get asked for ID.
I’ve started using wrinkle cream.
I can’t go a day without caffeine,
Unless I want to feel like a crumpled newspaper.
I can feel it awaken my soul.
I drown in the bitter endings.
My eyes are tired and heavy,
But my brain is utterly alive.
I’ve just entered adulthood,
And I already want to turn back,
I’m soon to be stuck in that 9-5,
Working over time,
Going home for a glass of wine,
Out for a power walk tonight.
Smelling of the teacher’s staffroom.
One day I’m going to do this,
Just after I’ve had my vanilla latte,
One day I’m going to do that,
Just after I’ve had my cappuccino,
One day I’m going to do something,
Just after I’ve had my Americano,
One day I’m going be something,
Just after I’ve had my double espresso
We spend our lives wishing to grow up,
Waiting for our lives to start,
When the reality is,
We’re all just getting older.
But I hope that at the end of my life,
That the defined lines of my face,
Will tell a thousand stories of adventure,
Just like this old worn out charity shop book,
That lies beside my used coffee cup.
I’m just another human trying to figure life out,
One cup of coffee at a time.