The coffee pot sits in the room,
with all the knifes, forks, and steel spoons
It waits in the morning
for when we stop snoring
to perform its one job of the day
Like thunder it rumbles then rains
and fills our mugs with brown-black stains
We forgive it quite quick
though our teeth might yell, "Quit!"
but we can't go without the tart taste
Its belly groans with roaring glee
while it mixes the water and beans
then it starts feeding
with drips and drops speeding
to fill our ears with morning's cue
-Mae Cousin
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