stfu ode #12: to my morning coffee

oblivious my coffee speaking to me
too early while I am bleary as cold cream
no I don't want to hear your stupid story again
about the mezcalero and the jumping bean
playing poker all night in the back of the truck
on the way from the Yucatán you
so poor nothing to wear but sackcloth
the men in the fields stripping sugar cane
with their machetes toothless from sucking
cane all day rotting their teeth and no
I don't buy the beautiful girl in the factory
had eyes only for you picked you only you
your anguished parting your torment like an oven
from hell I want only lightning or silence
between words the way I want only lightning
or silence between buttered slices of toast lightning or
silence in the interstices of morning storm and wind
to wake to the smell of ozone the smell of burnt
air zapped alive and cupped
in the rain

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