I don’t drink it for the caffeine.
And I don’t brew it for the taste.
But if you’ve got a minute, I’ll tell you why it percolates.
Coffee is a ritual. The starter pistol of routine.
Each morning set to brew, I do, that twenty-dollar machine.
It’s no fancy espresso maker. No pour over, nor French press.
The coffee I like best – is from a machine that makes a mess (for less).
It performs one simple function. And reliably it gets by.
All I need is just one cup to signify it’s time.
Time to start the day. And time to make the most.
The aroma of my industry, it smells like burnt blonde roast.
Go on buy your fancy gadgets. Your frothers for your milk. Guzzle super stimulants. And savor favor trade beans.
But never sell short the scrappiness of a twenty-dollar machine.