being conscious of...

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    • denah
    • contemplating whether to be a principal or a caterpillar

    being conscious of...

    revolutionary (under)tones in a hot cup o' joe


    I am in line deciding whether to have a cafe au lait
    mmm
    or a regular ol'
    cup o'
    joe
    when
    I spy
    (outta my little eye)
    something waggishly
    grand.

    sounds like... but not quite
    looks like... but no cigar
    feels like... pero it's not tangible
    a REVOLUTION

    what's that, you say?
    I look to the pot of muddy brown essence for answers
    (I can't trust the unbridled conformity in the eyes of my fellow homo sapiens and the dear old cafe au lait is too well liked to be of any help)

    Ol' joe, however, is ready for anything
    (everything)
    the aroma from this life force fills my nostrils
    and tells me everything
    (NOTHING)

    SHADE YOUR EYES AND EARS FROM THE REST
    THEY DON'T SUIT OUR PURPOSE AND THEY WILL ONLY DISTRACT YOU

    a careful glance shows me the light from the dullness of
    their faces
    me an' joe share a smile

    EVERYDAY
    I SAY
    REVOLUTION ANYONE?
    ANARCHY MY FRIEND?
    THEY ALL PASS ME BY
    OVER
    LOOK
    SHUT THEIR EARS, TURN THEIR HEADS, CLOSE THEIR EYES
    PASS ME BY...

    I know
    JOE
    I KNOW

    DO WHAT YOU MUST THEN, CHILD
    COMRADE
    FRIEND

    In an instant, I realize what begs to be done, and before
    I know it, all I know is
    JOE
    and the revolution
    I fly
    with pegasus' wings I fly

    passed the mindless drones
    over the counter
    passed good ol'
    JOE

    and I grab the
    (enemy)
    piece de resistance
    steamed, frothy milk clouds my vision
    doubt swells as I dump the
    faux
    joe

    commotion

    GO, FRIEND, GO!
    THIS IS A REVOLUTION
    BEYOND MY WILDEST DREAMS!

    glass shattering
    gasps
    the broken body of the lovely
    the divine
    miss all american
    cafe au lait
    I realize what I have done
    look at the confusion on the blank chalkboard faces
    I shed tears for the fallen queen
    out of the stunned silence
    laughter like pebbles on glass

    AT LAST I AM FREE OF HER SICKENINGLY SWEET
    (EFFERVESCENCE)
    REIGN! THANK YOU COMRADE.
    LIVE LONG AND PROSPER.

    I turn to the dullard wearing the green apron that screams employee
    my sweet n' low smile oozing across my face
    threatening to spill off the plane
    held there only by the corners of my trembling lips.

    "A hot cup o' joe, please."

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    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

    denah’s Poems (22)

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