the formation of the blues
blue
green lights
that indicate the coffeemaker’s
waiting
where am I
debating bittersweet
maybe bitter like the smell
of mildew
or of certain herbs
sweet
as chocolate or
plain sugar from the bag
in consideration of the snack my
mother got
now and then
of
a sandwich with butter and sugar from
a sack
in the house
on the farm
the kind with after-rain
and the wheelbarrow that so much
depends
on
while the mother of my mother worked
in
a field
and that’s the lonely photograph
with very little spoken
for the story
to us
in the suburbs
where we could have learned
more than
minimal
of
hardship
c l couch
photo by Steve Busch on Unsplash
a kind of reference to “The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams
(x = space)
x
x
Death of a Coffeemaker
x
The world gets so small sometimes,
Doesn’t it?
I mean, there are real problems,
Real horrors,
Real fears
x
And yet this small machine
Has had enough:
For all the pressing,
The red light will not come on
x
And now the water in the reservoir
Has run all over the counter
x
Sigh, it had been in decline—and
Now I think it’s done
x
If I had all the memberships,
I could order something, and then
It would appear
Having been dropped gently
By a drone
Or through the door
Of a pilotless car
x
But I’m stuck with old-fashioned
And will have to visit all the stores
At hand
x
This could be an opportunity
To stop drinking coffee—
What?
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Goh Rhy Yan on Unsplash
Flying a drone at dusk in the city.
x
clcouch123 
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