Java Dive

January 25, 2012

Out of bed and chicken skin feet hit freezing wooden floor. I’m half awake and sleepy seeds still cling to the corners of stony, dreamy, eyes.

I’m running slow-mo on a go–go, co–cold November morning, focusing with chilly will on the coffee cooker to pour out, from a pouting spout, a mean slow stream of steaming java.

Shiver and strut, peel off paisley p.j.’s and jump into cup: sproing off the breadboard diving board, feet together, palms lock in prayer overhead and kerploosh, 9.5 Olympic swan dive into the mug. I swim and swoosh around the inside hemisphere of the stoneware, dive under the hot, murky brown and feel stinging caffeine peeling eyelids awake.

I poodle paddle across the ripples, crossing back and forth, from one lip of cup to other. Australian Crawl, climb up curving handle and cannonball, throw sienna over scalp, splash and spit like a greasy, grinning grey goose. Just plain roll in it till half the java’s all over the kitchen floor, towel off with a big paper coffee filter, drain the cup in two guiltless gulps.

This is a poem in Kevin Zepper’s first small collection, “The Fifth Ramone.” Dacotah Territory Press published the chapbook in 2003.

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