Drinking coffee for the first time
since coffee was an affectation
Palest tan, crust of sugar crystals
Late morning now,
eyeglasses nest in my hairline
and newspaper black smudges my fingers
And I can see the future
It's not so bad
There will be Sunday mornings, a single cup,
a fridge with Coffee-Mate and insulin,
paper strewn across the table
Still, the music is sweet like the coffee
Banjo gentle, lyrics faintly religious
just enough for a heathen to remember it's Sunday
There will be a retirement party
with vague cards and generic thoughts
I'll scrape the icing off my slice
then pick at the cake with as much interest
as I have for goodbyes with people
I don't really know
My grandmother
outlived most of her family
until
she was alone in her big house
with neighbors she didn't trust
No Mother's Day calls when you have no children
The postcards on the fridge will be
reminders
for doctor's appointments and dental checkups
(if I still have my teeth)
It's not so bad
Not half so bad
as I had thought
But not so
much
as I had
hoped for