The complimentary lounge coffee is predictably empty,
yet every few minutes regular undergrads with mugs descend,
and depressing the dispenser, suffer only its death rattle,
settling instead for whatever cold leftovers sputter to the top.
The drudgery of it makes me think of Camus: should I kill myself
or have a cup of coffee? The Sisyphean slog.I notice a woman
working, her laptop covered in stickers;one says, Coffee
and Jesus, so I fish the Bible from my backpack,hoping
she notices. I turn at random, making only a moderate
production of flipping pages, to Second Samuel: David’s cry
for Saul and Jonathan, dead in battle—Thy glory, O Israel
is slain upon thy high places! How are the mighty fallen!
And she begins packing up to leave—Tell it not in Gath,
publish it not in the streets of Ash-Kelon—should I kill myself,
or have a cup of coffee—and a fresh pot appears.
