Coffee Break

I snagged this from between the walls. It dates back, waaay back. But here, shaken a bit to remove the dust, it is.

Coffee Break

Beverly sighed as she filled the coffee maker with water, closed the lid gently, and sighed again. Was it for this she had worked so diligently in college?

She hadn’t taken “Coffee Making 101.” Should have, though. Should have taken “Shopping for the Boss’ Relatives and Friends,” too. And what about “Running Personal Errands for the Boss?”

Apparently, she, an honors student, hadn’t gone to the right school. Seems all of the really important courses for succeeding in the business world, like coffee making, were lacking from her university’s curriculum.

Sucking her lower lip behind her upper teeth, Beverly grabbed the coffee can, pulled off the lid, scooped out some coffee, and dumped it into the coffee maker. There. Two scoops – the boss likes it made with two scoops. Releasing her lip, she dumped in another. Then with malice in her heart, she dumped in two more before setting the pot to perk.

Back at her desk, she fidgeted as she tried to concentrate. Soon she was interrupted by the inter-office phone. Picking it up, she made a conscious effort to moderate her voice before pleasantly inquiring, “Yes?”

“The coffee ready yet? I really need a cup. Oh, and run down to the bakery. I would kill for a Danish. Pick up a half dozen. When George arrives for our conference, we’ll have Danish and coffee. Give us a few minutes, then bring in the coffee and rolls. But first, bring me a cup right now.”

Beverly fought the urge to be sarcastic and won, merely answering, “Right,” and set the phone down.

Taking a cup from the little cabinet above the coffee pot, she slammed it on the counter and sloshed some coffee into it. Grimly grabbing a paper towel, she mopped up the overflow before it reached the edge of the counter. Placing the cup and a napkin on a tray, she carried it into the inner office.

The boss didn’t even look up, just reached for the coffee. Beverly turned on her heel to leave. She had nearly reached the door when she heard the boss choke and sputter.

“This coffee is terrible! Just awful!”

Beverly turned around and with wide, innocent eyes asked sweetly, “You don’t like the coffee?”

“It’s terrible! Awful! Dump this and brew another pot!”

“Oh, I don’t think I can do it any better,” said Beverly. “I just don’t think I can do it any better. Maybe you should make it. I’ll bet you make great coffee. After all, you are a woman, Mrs. Henderson.”

The Fire of Fall

Driving out on a bright and lovely fall day re-opened my eyes and mind to the great outdoors. The trees, even whole groves, were aflame with autumn colors. When had I last actually looked at the trees? Maybe at spring budding.

Seeing the trees afire with color reminded me of a poem I wrote some years back about walking through the crackling fallen leaves, thereby aurally rekindling the visual fire.

I have no idea where that poem is, but maybe I’ll dig it up one of these days and share it with you. Meanwhile enjoy the season. Fall is the best – but always too short.

The American Can

American Can


Every can along the road I feel a duty to inspect
And I sadly must report that some I must reject
For though they’re billed as rest rooms, there is no room to rest
And as for cleanliness and comfort they’d never pass the test

You’ll find no unused paper, clean towels you cannot see
Yet crumpled used towel litter there will always be
The pot won’t flush, the sink won’t drain, still we must confess
That even here, sometimes, we’re pleased to be a guest

For tho there is no place to rest and the room’s a total pit
It can seem a shining palace, ’cause there is a place to sit
We drop upon the throne and sigh, “Life’s simple pleasures are the best”
For after all, nature’s urgent call wasn’t bidding us to rest

Never Drive Through Sherack

Aug 21, 2010 028_edited-1

“Never drive through Sherack when the night is full black,

For there’s a ghost who wanders that road,
And when you drive through Sherack, he gets in the back
By methods completely unknown.”

She spoke of Sherack, fielding laughter and flak,
Gravely warning her friends and her foes.
Hearing nothing but cracks from that wretched pack,
She continued to make sure they’d know.

Yes, she knew of Sherack and its ghostly trap.
Yet one night when hard-pressed for time,
Though the night was full black, she drove through Sherack
And told herself all would be fine.

But the ghost of Sherack appeared in the back,
And tho she heard but a wheeze and a groan,
Her muscles went slack; it got wet where she sat
‘Cause she knew she wasn’t alone.

As the ghost of Sherack sat there in back
And he spoke about dying and death,
Her eyes slowly tracked to the seat in the back,
Then the eyes of the ghost and hers — met.

Her arm reached back and she gave him a whack,
Then threw back her head in a yell.
And the ghost of Sherack flew out of the back:
‘Twas the worst he’d heard this side of hell!

So scared in Sherack, she’ll never go back –
And even now her hair remains curled.
And the ghost of Sherack? He’ll never be back
‘Cause SHE frightened HIM right out of this world!