Among sixteen chilly skyscrapers,
The only thing moving
Was the steam of the coffee.
Regard, the coffee-mug
White, with the crimson Harvard seal
And the word VERITAS.
The coffee-house guitarist
Had a hit in 1988
With "Fast Car."
Disdained fair maidens
"With pallid hair, and blood that's thin"
And sang the beauty of those
With skin as dark as coffee undilute.
I once met someone
Who sprinkled instant coffee granules
On top of his ice cream.
On Christmas morning,
There's nothing like coffee
With a shot of Sambuca.
In an old movie, Richard Burton claimed,
"You can't taste cold coffee."
A provable falsehood, this!
After eleven in the morning,
I do not drink coffee
Unless it has cream and sugar
To blunt somewhat its potency.
At the Café Pamplona,
Sam ordered sopa de ajo
And espresso, not wishing to imbibe
Its watery American counterpart.
There was the Catholic priest
Who had a mug emblazoned with the legend,
DECAF SUCKS. We're inclined to agree.
David Letterman says decaf coffee
Is like non-alcoholic Scotch.
Why are there not more poems about coffee?
Poets of the third millennium,
Rectify this deficit!
Heather told a joke
At the International House of Pancakes
And I laughed and spit an explosion of coffee
At her friend Mike, across the table.
I can see throwing tea into Boston Harbor.
But coffee? Saints preserve us!