Ten Cent Resurrection

Poem I wrote several months back, in November, when I started working as a Barista.

Foam libations-

I was put off by the waste, the obscenity of it.
To give meaning to the method, and perhaps to pass the time,
I picked a new God every weekday,

Tiamet on Tuesday and Artemis on Thursday,
A pitcher for the Muses and a drop for the dead.
Friday is Bacchus, raucous and wild.
White foam libations trickle down the drain.

Subservient Priestess, lady of the black apron,
who on bended knee asks, “Would you like room for cream?”
We who in our waste resemble most whom we waste for.
We who have always been willing
To trade our bread for circuses, to reject the world of the mundane
for a taste of the design.
__________________________


I think I'm going in a new direction with this blog. I'd like to start using this to post poetry, fiction, and, god help me, travel writing. It would make a nice place to have it all available (besides the overflowing messy file and stacked journals) and provide a nice extra push to write more if I'm not updating enough. Ah, imagined peer pressure from an audience of pixels, and whoever else happens to be reading this.

So, let's see how it goes from here on out. Ciao!