I overfill the kettle
scoop the overpriced instant
into an oversized mug
clinking the teaspoon around
no sugar
it's not really my thing.
I light up half a joint
waiting for the coffee to cool
and think about what's to come
what's today
I'll likely see her there
I'll likely sit down next to her
making small talk, a likely excuse
to study the lines of her face
she'll tell me about the fields she's rambled
about the mountains she's climbed
I'll tell her how I do still write
sometimes
she'll say, "it was good to see you".
and I'll tell her the same
before we part ways
no sugar for me
it's not really my thing.