Steaming coffee
thick ceramic mug
Dad slowly stirring milk
surreptitious sips
seed planted early
In my twenties
coffee at work
seldom at home
break rooms
truck stops and diners
Always black
vending machine
only in desperation
diner’s big mugs
bring thoughts of Dad
Retired Teamster now
coffee at home
French press
whole bean
fair trade, locally roasted
Savoring the flavor
and the gift it brings
memories in each sip
stir thoughts of Dad
slowly stirring
September 29th is National Coffee Day in the United States
rivrvlogr 
Nice poem. Interesting because I sometimes think of my dad when I have
coffee. As a really young kid, I used to love it when he’d leave a little bit in his cup and I’d sneak up after him to drink it!
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Isn’t it interesting, where we keep our memories?
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It sure is! 🙂
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I have many good memories about coffee – making it in a percolator when I was a kid on Sunday mornings, my first espresso in Italy, followed by a cappuccino, a gift of ground specialty coffee from a woman I was crazy about (still am, we’ve been married over 30 years). Ah, coffee! And yes, tastes and odors linger!
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My parents didn’t switch to an electric percolator until I was a teen. I had a friend who continued stove top well into his thirties. He probably still does it that way. When we were in college, he was adding chickory to the blend, something he learned from his mother.
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