Three Cups To Go!
by Ping Yi

 

 

Clawing my way to the front of the line,

a zombie from caffeine withdrawal,

unflinching in day’s light – wait, that’s

for vampires – moaning for my cuppa.

The server flings my drink between

two tin mugs, mixing and frothing

a thick, luscious elixir, decanted into

a polypropylene grail. Skipping away,

swinging my potion; its handle breaks,

my hopes splattered across the cafe floor.

 

Returning next dawn in fresh trousers,

untainted, a champion undaunted,

bent on my fix. Savouring the first sip,

retrieving my duffel from the boot.

Back on the road: how dare these people

mock my driving! Pointing, laughing,

honking at me, the nerve! I blast all

with my horn, flooring it. Reaching

for a second sip, seeing in the rear view

the cup launching off my roof.

 

Parking at work, third day’s the charm!

Wrestling my ambrosia from the barista,

defending my mead against all comers,

elbowing colleagues off the escalator,

shoving strangers out of the lift; better

than Messrs. Bond, Bourne and Bauer!

Triumphant arrival at our workshop, seeking

my breakout group. I lift my cup, and trip

over a chair, hurling hot manna at my boss.

Leaving myself no quantum of solace.

 

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