My Coffee Pot and I : Creative Writing

My Coffee Pot and I

Each morning before the dawn I arise to switch on my faithful coffee pot, in the optimism that when I awaken to the automatic alarm in my head at 6 a.m. my swill is ready. I lay in bed eavesdropping on the old pot listening to it cough and splutter as it tries, ever avidly to spit out each dribble. The noise reminds me of my Grandmothers fourth husband who died of emphysema, his lungs trying to spew out the garble of glop caught in his tarry lungs.

Last Friday I had a friend over who suffered with his hangover waiting, waiting, and waiting for his chalice of adrenaline finally, after three hours he yielded to the ewer and ingested a cup of the coagulate that sat in the bottom of the pot in a dark ambiguous deposit that choked him conscious. He threatened me a new coffee pot as he eradicated the mug of the beverage to my drain and rinsed the slime that pasted itself within his cup.

As I write I must contemplate whether or not I would like a new brewer in my kitchen. Though admittedly, the one I have is not the best in some ways it reminds me of myself. I too am in my “not so recent” stage of life. Though I am slower, perhaps I am just more deliberate. Though I am more exhausted , I am certainly not defeated. Though not as fast as a newer model, I am faithful. Though not as beautiful as the younger edition, I remain appealing just the same.

Like me the gal just needs a bit of love and patience.

Think I’ll just run the vinegar through her one more time…

  By Sherrie Ball