Ode to the Coffee Things

But its a black and decker coffee maker you see, a really strange thing 
If you are not from here.

I can hear my wife slowly exhaling through pursed lips as I explain this to someone
Yet again. What about the pour over, she suggests, hopeful, as a place where some space might open up in our very small home. 

I will sacrifice the dusty, rubbish, pour over in favour of the two different sized cafetières that are a brutalist steel, instead of the elegant glass, to stop the inevitable accidental shattering in the kitchen sink.

What about the small one, she asks, logical and practical and I grin, as I don’t answer. I dream of a house with beds for other people, children, dogs, all that Stuff. Maybe if i could spread it all out, she won’t mind as much.

She won’t notice the mugs accumulating.

(Hah)

No you can’t get an aero press, lips pressed thin before a loving smile. But do you know it represents a part of what adulthood is supposed to be to me?

My brother, ten years older, sometimes like my dad, sometimes not, loved the coffee Things and my kid-brain latched on to that. 

Let the kettle cool before pouring, stir it. Maybe I’ll let the black and decker go, it really is too big, and the violence of red led offends me at two am but I’ll be letting something of my childhood dreaming go too.