Yesterdays Coffee

The house is quiet and the kids are all asleep
as I wonder through the kitchen I can hear
the patter of my feet. The linoleum is cold, I
can feel it through my socks, my breath is
cloudy even inside, my icebox of a house.

The alley light shines through the window panes,
my Mr. Coffee reflects the bright beams. I
wonder how old that coffee is, is it okay to
microwave it?

I cannot sleep; I’m as cold as can be. The only
thing to do is drink those day old coffee beans.
It’s far from cappuccino and not quite battery acid,
but yesterdays coffee is just the thing I’m having.