Morning Warfare

The battlefield? My kitchen floor.

The enemy? The day in store.

My armor’s weak, my will is low,

I stand and watch the coffee flow.

Drip by drip, it mocks my fate,

a slow parade, it makes me wait.

The war outside begins to stir,

but I can’t fight without this cure.

I think of all I have to do,

the fires to put out by noon.

The bills, the calls, the uphill climb,

but first, this pot has got my time.

The seconds crawl, the patience fades,

a hostage in this slow cascade.

I tap my foot, I curse the wait,

my will to live evaporates.

The final drop, the end is near,

my porcelain sword, I clutch it dear.

Damn it, there go the war drums,

it’ll have to wait, the coffee pot still hums.

-SH