The little hassles of
life are old hat.
They’re cold coffee.

Sitting on the table
making you nauseous
with each recollection.

The biting heat now dull, lifeless
leaves behind a damp circle good
only for drowning butts.

And if by chance you forget,
pick up the cup and

the bitter sauce awakens you,
takes you to the sink
and there

you begin again
With a fresh pot.