by Ruth Mark (bio after poem)
The smell of old, grainy coffee
as it hits the bin takes
me straight to Lennoxvale, Number 10
and the machine which produced
the most revolting brew.
But we drank it out of plastic containers
10 pence a pop, sitting on worn leather benches
psychology students waiting for lectures
to begin in a tiny, badly-lit room
that smelled of moss, dust motes
breathing in the air
and the flick of the over-head projector
telling us all we needed
about schizophrenia, aging
and how pigs are raised.
The taste of the coffee
clung to my palate
iron fillings and straw and hot burning plastic
as I scribbled notes on a fat file pad
Machine coffee imperceptibly returns me
to those days when the world was our platform
and all we had to do was grab.
Copyright © 2002 + Ruth Mark. All Rights Reserved.
About Ruth Mark
Ruth Mark is a licensed psychologist and freelance writer. She has been published in many web and print venues including: Riviera Reporter, thelongtriphome, Dakota House Journal, Marie Claire, etc. Her favorite poet is Seamus Heaney. She loves coffee and finds it an essential part of the morning.
