My perfect cup of coffee

is not the plastic travel mug
of Breakfast Blend that topples

from the center car console
onto my khaki slacks,

not Columbian or French Roast,

not afternoon cappuccino
with a hazelnut shot,

not Café JoJo’s mocha latte
iced, with whipped cream,

not keep-me-awake caffeine
microwaved four times bitter.

My perfect cup is home perked,
sweetened with sugar and cream:

like when my husband smiles at me,
that liquid look in his dark eyes,

and I want to cup his smooth cheeks
in my hands—

sip, drink, gulp
until the pot runs dry.


[This poem first appeared in Dunes Review, winter 2007-2008.]