The Pleasures of Coffee

Produce, meat, and dairy,
rows and rows of nutriment,
meals the housewife is planning
planning to make her husband,
preparation for her husband’s death.
She meanders down each isle,
smiling and plotting.
Coffee is the last thing on her list.

Here comes the tornado,
destruction on his mind.
He’s ready to bulldoze
through her clean,
perfect home.
Her smile, it’s a fake.
She’s certainly grinding her teeth
dissolving grit into bone dust.
Her brain sending voltage flashes of the image of his death;
his long, awaited death.
The housewife’s plan is simple,
death by accident…

There is coffee brewing
with that fragrant aroma
filling the dense air with vengeful toxin.
Water falling upon the grounds,
filtering
trickling
down into that glass harbor,
waves of certain death.
She pours her husband a simple cup of coffee
black,
two sugars,
extra arsenic, for extra measure of course,
the poison hit the blackness as bombs on Hiroshima
death is certain.
The housewife prances to her husband,
dear,
sweet,
husband of hers.
She walks on water,
floating toward the kitchen
ready to start breakfast.
In the background the coffee cup,
it hits the floor.
I will be sure to clean that up.