the first cup's free

you are not
addicted to coffee
you say to yourself
as you rummage
through the cupboard
looking for one more
sleeve of Italian
roast to make
an instant cup.
you bypass the backup
jar of folgers,
the forgotten
tall jar of Maxwell's
instant, French roast,
hardly.
you dig
deeper into the shelves,
taking out the
instant oats
with that smirking
ben franklin
on the front,
ancient cans of soup.
out goes the tea
bag boxes. green
tea, happy tea,
lemon lime sunshine
tea. sleepy time
tea. where did all
this stupid tea
come from? where's
the coffee? you take
a deep breath and try
to calm yourself down.
you need to get dressed.
you wonder how long
the line will be,
you don't care,
it's snowing, so what.
the streets are
unplowed. doesn't
matter. you need it
now. sweet jesus,
you say towards
the ceiling where
you notice a water
stain resembling spilled
coffee,
get me to a barista
now.