The Process

The coffee is never strong
enough.  The first cup is proper,
though, with its milk ratio and all.  That
I can expect.  The second cup is diluted,
and I can expect that, being uncertain about using
more milk.  I boil the water
in a pot and then pour it into the French press.
Depending on your grace with it, bystanders may
think that’s a craft method.  It’s about as
craft as a bucket drum.  We make do.  Absolute
value of the beat or flavor is the final score, anyway.  My
friend said, “you need a kettle.”  I laughed, like
who am I, Neil Peart?  Coffee’s cold now, anyway.
Maybe just drink the damn thing and shut
up about it.  One thing’s for sure: the Louise
Gluck anthology is not a coaster.  Well
fuck me, am I supposed to get a table or
something?  Who am I, Martha Stewart?  Just a kid
trying to have some coffee.  The line between
expectation and entitlement is too delicate; most
of us haven’t done any worse than consider the words
more or better, anyway.  Really, really…just shut up
and drink it.