It’s not so bad to choose yesterday’s bitter coffee,
over starting a fresh pot, to sit with the front door open
to the casual greening of brown things,
the lifting of that offensive weight of March,
and the mysterious mourning dove calling
from the high branches of one of the leafless trees
that provide stubborn texture to your suburban street
which just now is lined with the clatter of EMTs
Rushing in and out of the neighbor’s house.
Yesterday’s Coffee
America, bird, birds, bummer, chef, coffee, death, desperate, desperation, discomfort, drink, drugs, drugs and alcohol, drunk, ease, fallout, food, furniture, happiness, home, hope, humans, husband, lessons, love, man, marriage, men, messy, nature, nude, object, one night stand, our time, our town, peace, people, poem, Poems, poet, poetry, poets, power, punk, punk rock, sadness, secrets, sheep, shit, spiders, suicide, symbols, the west, time, truth, vulnerability, vulnerable, war, work, workers, working, writing
About Me
A poet-chef living in Denver, Co. I use the orange Aquafresh toothpaste, off brand mouthwash, and those little floss picks.
Daniel E Haislet 
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