no coffee

why didn't you
make another pot
of coffee? you've
been up since six
o'clock this morning,
she says, holding
up the pot, shaking
it to demonstrate how
how empty it is.
i went out and bought
some donuts and a
paper, you tell her,
and hold the box of
a dozen chocolate glazed
donuts minus the two
you just ate up
to her. the paper says
we might be in the path
of a tsunami, can
you believe that,
you tell her,
pointing at the headline
and a photo of a
giant wave approaching
land. who cares, she says.
what the hell is wrong
with you? but why
didn't you make
more coffee? Jesus.
she says. you know i
need a cup of coffee
when i wake up. you can
be so selfish and lazy
sometimes. why do i
even put up with you?
this is just a symptom
of who you are, you
know that don't you?
if i wasn't here
there would never
ever be a fresh cup
of coffee in this house.
goddamn you. she
tightens the belt
around her pink terry
cloth cotton robe and
slams the pot down.
you hold up a donut,
do you want one?
they're really fresh!