Coffee Dreamer - poem by Glen Wheeler

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When unemployed, perhaps unemployable, the coffee shops can be great places to hang out, read the news of the world, and find out what's happening in the neighborhood. If the hour is late (or early) and you find that you're the only one at the coffee counter, you may be able to relate to the following poem, written at a small cafe on Goulet St. in St. Boniface.

Coffee Dreamer

My coffee speaks each morning
it shouts and stammers
repeating lazy euphemisms
until I'm sly and re-awake.
I envelope its precious spirit
as it analyses the night dreams
of every clay soldier
en route to kiln-like palaces.

And my coffee stands
it sits and reclines
in the company of thoughts;
whispering to the ceramic ears
the meaning of this morning's séance
and I barely listen,

And my coffee speculates
it contemplates across
a light-year of space
going out to distant galaxies
from this, our simple system,
to view the facts recalled
and come to grand conclusions:

these aspirations
lie deliriously
in my smitten cup
disappearing somewhat
furiously.