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Weighted Companion CubeToday is another day of testing,
I walk through the cold, white rooms,
As I stop, calmly resting,
A hatch opens, and drops you in my life.
Your cold, hard exterior, a shell,
Your metal covers your soft heart,
You came to rescue me from hell,
And now we walk together.
I jump atop you, and you make me taller,
We run along the long white room,
And even as the corridor gets smaller,
I know you'll save us from all problems.
You act as shield, weight and friend,
As a stool, you have no better,
And then she speaks, and I fear the end,
You hold the button, I press the switch.
The hatch opens, to a flaming grave,
She tells me all this must be done,
Suddenly, you speak to me, say I must be brave,
I worry for my sanity, as you start to smile.
I wonder how a cube could grin,
But then the warm air reminds me,
I want to keep you, greed is my sin,
She speaks again, an angry tone.
I lift you up, above your fiery demise,
Once again, you speak to me,
You tell me that there will be a surprise,
Once I fin
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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