When the lamp is on, and the chair is warm, and the coffee’s gone, what do you do?
Where do you go when there’s nothing there, not in your cup, not a drop to spare?
What can you pray, to take the pain away, to smooth the rough edges of another rough day?
What do you know that can whisper to your soul, the way the coffee does, when you’re feeling so low?
And the loneliness is pressing, the wind whipping round, the chill to your bones, the stale coffee grounds.
The dry brown ring, the sad coffee stain, the slight dampness mocks you and your coffee-addled brain.
Oh sweet Lord in heaven
Oh red Devil in hell
I don’t care who I pray to, as long as it breaks the spell
This endless white emptiness, the crushing heartache, the yearning and hoping as I’m lying awake.
For a cup of coffee. Hot. No sugar. Just milk. Please.
Then we can have conversation and pass the pleasantries
And thoughts will float between us, as they do between old friends. That is, as they do, before the coffee ends.