Theobroma: A Poem


Was what you said about it,
Which seemed to go without saying,
Given that you'd remarked upon it.

Still, something had to be said
About the way the light shone through
The cloudy and deep orange of the thing.
About the crisp bubbly of the day
And how well it matched the bright.

Still something more had to be said
About the fresh face it gave to things,
How your job seemed manageable
And your spirit content in its dispensations.

You said
As I poured another.