Croissant crumbs and coffee cups on the dashboard

Rings in the vinyl, like rings of age

In trees, testifying to the persistence

Of the road, and the quest for a Starbuck’s

Or even a Greasy Spoon

That can do their coffee right

Seems I have traveled the globe

In search of that perfect cup

Which, mixed with one sugar and two creams

Becomes just another “regular” in my estimation.

But, the time to sample something exotic,

French Mocha Chocolate or some-such

Is beyond me. It strains my budget for one thing;

And the thought of sipping foam-filled froth

At such expense is troubling

And a little bit absurd.

The interstates blur, the numbers look the same;

All end with some variation on the number 95

They have Popeye’s Chicken and Pizza Hut making coffee now,

And even serving Hazelnut. It’s enough to make you wonder

If anyone is making an honest cup of coffee anymore.

But I wondered that about love, once, too

When I was on a different kind of road.

11/11/2002

Author's Note: Written after another lovely bout with Eye-95, NYC to Baltimore and back

Posted on 11/11/2002
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch