Last evening, like every other evening
I clutched my coffee and ventured familiar roads home.
April’s setting sun pierced the windshield.

Each night, that blinding light appeared
At dusk on this road heading west.
So I did not notice the little bird,

But I did hear the thump.
A plume of blue-gray feathers scattered
Verifying the sad ending my windshield had caused.

As I contemplated this poor bird’s passing
I turned the corner onto my street of canopied trees,
And noted Tom had left out his trash cans again.

Directly across the street, Mrs. Sally,
Dressed in her familiar Muu Muu, dragged a tree branch
That had fallen in the afternoon storm.

Her dearest Joe used to do these things,
His honey-do list sits eternally near his coffee ***
Wistfully, yearning for the touch of his callused fingers.

I often thought of my end, last breath and adieu.
I prefer to pass unknowingly, sleeping.
A warm thought, for me, but not my wife.

Imagine her jabbing me, attempting to wake me,
Her former husband, now lifeless beside her.
How impolite of me, a weekday morning, no less.

She would probably be late to work
Due to my boorish finish
The morning of her big presentation.

No such conclusion would befall me.
I should go suddenly, in my study,
Surrounded by piles of unread books.

Sitting with a cup of coffee warming my hands.
I took mine black and I was often reminded,
When spilt, Coffee leaves a terrible stain.

I arrived home and noticed the leaves,
Seasons were changing,
They needed a good raking.

My wife met me at the door,
Smiled in her embrace,
There was diner with small talk.

As I retired to my study,
Savoring my coffee, staring at my books,
Contemplating what should be read next,

I did not feel the cup slipping from my hand,
Nor hear its crash as it splintered into a million pieces.
My “World’s Best Dad” cup was finished.

Laid out on the floor, I could see
The spatter of coffee across the rug.
Now I’ll admit, coffee does leave a good hard stain.

I glanced at my wife entering the room in a panic
And felt life drain my body,
I could only think to say,

“I know, the coffee… you’ve told me a thousand times.”