I have been drinking coffee
at the cafe down the street.
I should be working, I know,
but it is nearly November
and I do not want to work.
I wish, instead, to be drinking coffee,
and so I am.
The weather is dolorous, and I
have been reading of Doctor Solander
and Pope Saint John the Twenty-Third.
Often overlooked, both of them to be sure,
and I as well. It is difficult to be
drinking coffee while it rains
so like a torrent of tears or a hundred years
of mourning, at the cafe down the street.
Oh humanity, how foul and fair you appear.
Oh cursed bodies, oh beautiful images of God.
I wonder if Christ enjoyed drinking coffee?
Did he enjoy a croissant with it?
For I know that I would. Thank you madam.
I stretch like a sunning cat. Time
has no meaning while you are drinking coffee.
Certainly, others would disagree,
would rudely shout that I
should have been working an hour ago,
that I will lose my job if I don’t come in. But I
do not wish to work today. I want
to be drinking coffee at the cafe down the street.