I am going through old brands
one by one until I find that diner counter
white cup with two creams and a dark
green stripe around an ordinary
afternoon. The waitress’s smile is an absent
nod to 1964 and warms up my dubious want
from her nice fresh pot. Chase & Sandborn
today, tomorrow maybe Chock Full o’Nuts
cut with Chicory for the purist palette. Oh,
I’ve tried Hills Brothers hot from the metal
cup we took camping in the Poconos, Sanka
for jitters and Eight O’Clock to study pot shards
all night long. I can almost get there
with Maxwell House, packed in the same can
of clear sky, but inside a forgery flavored hazelnut.
Melitta, Luzianne and Kava (if I’m desperate)
all bring me back to the perfect jolt of Yuban,
a grateful nod to Rooster Brand and Juan Valdez
with those Columbian beans slung on his burro
and his mandate to wake the hell up.
