just a normal cup of coffee

That's the third cup of coffee

I’ve had to dump,  I say to my neighbor

with the grey wool beret coming

back from the shelter time number

who remembers, and it’s only a little

after seven and he says he doesn’t make

coffee at home, he goes to the café around

the corner, the one with books and good

sandwiches, next to the pizza place and I

say I can’t wait for a café, I need coffee

first thing, after maybe three hours of sleep

if I’m lucky. He nods and we drag our

somnambulistic selves up four flights of

stairs and I try for the fourth time: one

finely measured scoop of finely ground

coffee, not the instant fake powdery plasticky

stuff they sell in glass jars, no I mean the finest

grind what they call Israeli at the place

in the shuk where I buy coffee, then I add

boiling water and wait a few seconds for

the grounds to settle, but not too long because

this morning is proving to be a nuisance, so I

sip the burning black drink that now has a dollop

of honey and hold my blue cup with two

hands, for a second close my eyes and

imagine today is just a normal day and this

is just a normal cup of coffee.