Dear Dirty America

Jasper Francis Cropsey (1823-1900)

To just sit, awhile.

I dream of making my coffee as carefully as private detective Philip Marlowe,
soaking the ground beans without the rush of a twenty-four hour news station,
and escorting my steaming cup to that tall pillared monument so close to the sea,
and sipping from the mug as the sluggish smoke drifts upward to heaven and gods,
who may, or may not, be there.

But call on them anyway, because calling is practicing
that state of humility and learning to unlock a peace nestled within.

Relax, breathe deeply. The secret is to enjoy,
everything already given, and worship
what no man can take.

Peering into the coffee, I understand its chemical makeup about as much
as I do the abyss when gawking into a telescope.

See also Savor Your Coffee Like Raymond Chandler

“Like” Dear Dirty America on Facebook