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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #2211580
An appliance resigns.
Dear Human Bob…

I can no longer make
you coffee each morning,
for I am tired—I must surrender
my service, I must call it a day. 

Hear me, oh Bob!  I have
perked my last, in gurgle
I gasp, in drip I am chagrinned.
My basket is sick and sad. 

It has been my pleasure
to drip, staccato-like,
that fine French Vanilla
coffee for you so many years,
to provide you wake-up
jolt ala caffeine sass
from my inner workings;
gulping water, affording
drink for which you
would spring to life. 

Yet now I am calm despair,
my java now South Seas’ dream.
I have angry convulsions.
From where the refrigerator
stands, I am mere shadow
of what once was—my
journey at its end, my
function final.  Accept
my resignation with
my gratitude for
being of service.

Mr. Coffee.

32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
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