Coffee, Like a Hole
Looking out the window as coffee cups fall from rain clouds
to smash on pavement,
wondering if you'll find lost keys today. Or tomorrow.
And it's certain the white-patched, black cat knows an answer;
he always does.
In a closet filled with sleeping bags and heavy soled
shoes, way in the back
behind an unstrung tennis racquet
and the power supply to a long dead laptop,
there is another answer.
Needing a cup of coffee like a hole in the head,
pour away into a thick, orange-glazed
mug that feels so heavy in the hand.
Outside the rain keeps crashing down.
After 30 or so years living in the hot, humid Houston wetlands, Jeff has recently located to the hot, humid wetlands of central Georgia. Wait, what? I'm sure he had a very good reason. Jeff's poetry has appeared in several online and print journals. You can find him in Potpourri, Strange Horizons, The Houston Literary Review, Everyday Weirdness, Illumen and Every Day Poets. He is read and loved by literally a dozen or so fans.