A box from the exotic Amazon waits on the porch
for us to get home from our day’s toil.
Mine man’s fingers, they carefully rend it,
Exposing the glory inside to our orbs.
A sigh, an exhale of joy upon spying,
the new, shining maker of coffee inside.
We cradle it like a cherished heirloom,
bathing it gently w/ our cleansing tears.
On the morrow, my auditory sense hearest
the long-silent HISS, the thrilling gurgle
as the maker of coffee works its dark magic;
my heart leaps; my jittery soul rejoices
For it has been 5 moons since
Capricious Jove sent a bolt of wrath
Ushering the old maker of coffee
Off this mortal coil & to the hereafter
But thanks to the Prime of Amazon
A mere 2 days after our order
Our jitters are of auld lang syne
And order had been restored
In the decanter, the dark nectar
has a rich, pumpkiny smell
Prepared to perform alchemy:
the morn grows tolerable.
But verily I say to you,
a truth absolute:
Pumpkin Spice is Fall,
Fall, Pumpkin Spice –
that is all you need to know.
Very, very loosely inspired by Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn.”