Saint Dunkin’, Saint Krispy Kreme
by Julie Steward
Toroid and tiny
terrible and torrid but always
with the blackest
coffee, your service begins.
Holy as an 8-track, you testify to a better time.
Promises and partakings, people
speaking to strangers like dervishes in the desert.
We wait in line for coffee, obsidian and hot.
And the dust of you, sugar everywhere, on fingertips
and promises we make as we blurt out
the name of someone we love,
or used to love,
one sweet symphonic a fake for another.
Is it better to start the day with you,
slam into sunrise’s inky streaks,
or find you, midday torpid, too tired
What of the secret sin of night? You
under covers and everywhere sugar and sheets?
Some kind of holy adultery,
some kind of nascent rebirth?
Toroid and tiny, open
between savor and bite,
one minute more.
image from http://sageofdiscovery.com