“Do you want to get some coffee?”

“I’m not really into coffee.”

I know that wasn’t the point of you asking, to go out for coffee, but I always felt the need to say it.  I didn’t like coffee.  It was almost a badge of honor in some cases.  Everyone around me gulping it down like fuel at the gas station.  Sloshing the troughs of cream and milk as stir sticks lay wasted on the counter.  Not me.  I’m good.

I’ve always had a natural state of alertness and didn’t feel the need for a morning pick me up.  Of course it comes and goes, and of course I could probably use some kind of pick me up, but I always felt that if I succumbed to the coffee bean devils then I’d become reliant on them.  I’d be a walking Starbucks zombie.

You were staring at me with a perplexed look on your face.  Shit, I did it again.

“Well I mean, like, I don’t really like coffee, but of course we can do something else.  If you want.  If you want coffee we can go get coffee, or like I don’t know, something.  I mean, I could get something.  I’m sure-, well like they have other stuff.  Did you want coffee?  We can do whatever.  It’s-, I’m-, like whatever you want.”

There, that ought to fix it.  Jesus.

She raised her eyebrow at me and stared for a decade or two.  Her lips were together and still.  She had the biggest, rounded eyes I had ever seen.  I believe people often described them as saucers, big and bright and a perfect circle.  While I’m staring back into her stare all I can think of is the moon and if it had a twin that lived alongside it.  Two giant celestial circles floating in the sky staring at me through a blanket of night black hair.

“You can get whatever you want.  You don’t need to get coffee.  It was just a front to talk.  Geez, calm down,” she hardened her stare enough that it was obviously in jest.

“Calm down?  I’ll definitely pass on the coffee then,” I smiled in response.

“Yeah, because you don’t drink it right?  You’re not really into it.  I heard that somewhere,” she said while turning to walk away.

“I can stand it in the right company.”

I followed the moon for coffee as it faded below the horizon.

Mirco Poetry: I Looked Up At The Moon

The moon looks angry tonight,

red dusted across its face,

like blood has already been spilled.

What did you do?

The moon

Do you think the moon is lonely?  Do you think it spins around the earth so slowly hoping to catch its gaze and hold it long enough that maybe it will smile back and shine some light on it?

I bet the moon is jealous of the sun.  Jealous that the sun gets the light and praise and the moon only gets sleep and silence.  It pulls at the oceans, making its tears rough with the tide.  Blinking every so often on a dark night, closing its own eyes for a moment to itself.  Blinking wide to show the earth how beautiful it can be when its open full.

The lunar eclipse is its only time to block out the sun, but in a cruel twist nobody can look up to see how beautiful it is.

The moon tries.  It smiles in a sliver to get the earth to laugh.  It grows bigger and closer to the earth in hopes of a kiss or at least to be noticed.  The moon takes whatever it can get and continues on as it always has.  It comes back every night without fail and goes to sleep every morning to give the earth its space.  Never getting closer, never getting more but always there.

Hoping.

Wishing.

Beaming bright in the darkness.