Coffee by Albutol Al Hargan

Posted on April 27, 2012 by


“One more,” he says.

Over steaming mugs,

in musty rooms,

amongst nicotine-clouded heads, –

one more.


Stay, he pleads

without words,

the hanging promise of mahogany tinted liquid

of wood roasted beans.



“One more,” he tells the waiter.

The empty chair a shade of the drink,

a shade of his skin,

a shade of his eyelashes.

She breathes deep.


Her thumb scratching at the table,

her fingers gripping the corner,

her blood pulsating caffeine

and half-intented goodbyes,

her knees succumb.


Wrinkles etch his kerosene eyes,

his teeth wary of an audience.

She sits apprehensive.

The promise of maybe, of again, of possibility

dwelling in a cup of joe.

Posted in: Coffee