Too Much, Too Much

Linda Gaida


Researchers claim apples wake me better than coffee.
It’s the sweet, the fructose, that natural-sugar-assurance.
So I ingest twofold the succor.
Before sun shines
or cockcrow-vapors burn away,
I eat my Golden Delicious apple,
shadowed by swigs of rusty-black coffee
—Folgers Instant, since coffee pots are for story telling.
I super-saturate my mug with a tablespoon extra;
russet debris garlands roasted liquid.
Saccharine mouthful and bitter gulp create
an amalgamation of rather
ill-fated flavor.
Faux-americano with the genus Malus—  
they and I serve to serve each other advice,
endowing me with the energy
to craft quotidian fantasy-exit strategies
to Egypt,
or Thailand,
or Madagascar,
but mostly Egypt
and I can’t tell you why in neither knowledge nor experience,
but I want the sands to chap my lips
and to run in a brightness that requires sunscreen
and not relinquish desert ardor for central heating
and I think on these thoughts and am
so happy apple and coffee appease me every morning.


Thanks for reading. Check out Diaghilev's Ballets Russes: Logical Artistic Revolution in Belle Epoque Paris