Now this is a poem about coffee. There’s lots of those: poets drink coffee, it seems. But let me explain the subtext. So I was drinking coffee, and listening to the radio, and… Now this is a poem about sex, of course. Aren’t they all? So I was thinking about my… But this is a poem about music. I was listening to the radio. Oh — the hell with it. Just think about yours, OK? Ready? OK, here we go then.
I prefer it white but I’ll
take it black. I’ll take it any
way you give it.
Sugary or bitter, with
chocolate or cream, with
Baileys or Galliano —
even with vanilla —
However you want to serve it, if it’s
made by you I’ll drink it.
Just put your poison in it.
(First published in Thirst)