The smell of coffee on the New Moon signals choices–though small, they make–or break–a day. Familiar spaces, old routines–new chaos.
Or cosmos.
Enjoy your coffee on this New Moon Day, everyone.
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In the old coffeeshop, a familiar set,
My eyes on the menu–know what to get.
The espresso machine hummed, a tune that soothed,
A barista smiled–a stray cat knew.
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The cat sneaked in as I stirred the grounds
Sat by my side, without a sound
The coffee’s steam wafted, I beheld–
Its secret waited, its tale to tell.
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Sugar, cinnamon–pieces, loose
The barista smirked–‘wisely choose.”
Light streamed in from the new moon–
Said she, “Fate turns on choices soon.”
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With my spoon, I let sugar slide
On the tray, put cinnamon aside
A small choice, a little play
That caused the coffee’s taste to stray
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The coffee thickened, the sugar sand–
Brown grains fell faster than I drank
I sat slumped, my mind confused
It came apart in chunks, unglued
☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕
I left the cafe, stunned, with my drink
My hand froze as I tried to think
The cat followed, pointing its tail
Chided me at my cinnamon fail
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The cup, on my table–stayed undrunk
I stirred, circling the bland sugar sunk
“Why didn’t I, with cinnamon stay–
“No morning drink for me today.”
☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕
The black cat then left with a leap,
Its black form took my mind that wouldn’t keep
The moon still gleamed–fresh, renewed
Though choices small, one must be true.
☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕
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