The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company
Dec 8 2010


At A&P, it was Eight O’Clock coffee,
a no-nonsense name
for the well-regulated life.

Strong java in the morning.
Back when the percolator
burped frantically on the stove,
burning the bitter liquid
but infusing the house
with glorious aroma.

As a boy, I loved that big red machine
in the aisle chock-a-block with coffee.
The powerful grinding noise.
The silky sluice
of finely ground beans,
that stopped
just short of overflowing.
The intoxicating smell.
So that I yearned to try
the grown-up drink.

The first cup
is like a rite of passage.
Up there with the first kiss,
accidentally clinking incisors.
With learning to drive,
your dad on the passenger side
clenching tightly.
A delicious aroma
but the taste was bitter.
Until, that is
I was initiated into the ritual
of milk and sugar,
transforming it
into a rich brown elixir.
Because a child’s palate
is so much more sensitive,
not yet jaded by life.

Eventually, I learned to take it black.
A well-roasted blend
filtered through acid-free paper.
As I learned to drive
with the roof down, the tunes cranked up
a girl nestled beside me.
And learned to kiss,
not just lips, but tongue
all over her body.

My first cup of coffee,
a gateway drug
to all the pleasures of life.