Continuing saga of my sagging floor - Poem: Drinkin Coffee There and Here

As I blog, I'm watching Charlie Rose talk with former General David Petraus. Fallujah, that's what they're talking about. I think that's a type of tortilla with loads of delicious veggies, esp. olives. I'll see if they carry it at the Giant.

Note Charlie's new turquoise colored wrist-watch.

Here's some notes I took.

ungovnd spaces will be exploited
the implications wont be contained
doing something about it - u s leadership
esp from the islamic world
gotta do more than just drone strikes, comprehensive approach
this is a generational struggle

Okay, I can't stand it anymore. Gonna shut it off.

 Public adjuster came last nite. Scott gave me his name. A couple yrs ago a tree fell on Scott's garage. Glen Pannebakker along with Bob W fixed it.

Here's Glen's truck. He borrowed a trailed from a friend and is returning it.

Bob W is sposed to come out and find where the water's coming in. Today would be a perfect day as it's raining.

Scott and Mike Kramer are fixing Mike's Kia. He's happy with it but there's a lot of rust and rot.

 Look at the wheeled bench they use.

 Don't you love the greasy smell of garages? 

Peach tree holding strong against invasion of the squirrels.

The poem will explain the drink.


DRINKIN COFFEE THERE AND HERE

My ruined kitchen awaits repair
so, dreaming of creamy scrambled
eggs and luscious French toast
I drive over to Weis market on
County Line Road.

Breakfast? says the woman.
Only on Sundays.

Off I go to the nearby
Dunkin Donuts, the second
choice of discerning
Americans

What's this? A cheese bagel?
It doesn't look like a bagel
I say.
It's twisted says the bespectacled
Indian. I'll have it, I say, and
take it to my table along with
the small black coffee.

It's like chewing into a piece
of stale Bazooka bubble gum, so
he heats in up in the brazier, I'll
call it. With brown schnaperkins,
as my dad called them, I wipe the
crumbs off the table, then sit
in my knee-length blue dress on
the cold wooden seat.

The coffee's fine. Hot and goes
down smooth, like gin. The cheese bagel?
Why fret about it? It's part of me now.
And the coffee, reheated with a sprinkle of
cinnamon, leaves a striated painting
in the paper coffee cup.