Coffee and Tea

We're in bed, just waking up, heads and mouths too sleepy to speak.  You are sweet, getting up and turning on the kettle for me.  Thanks, baby.  You know it's hard for me to move so early.  How is it you can just get up like that?  From underneath the covers, I hear the coffee machine warming up.  Though it's young and shiny, the machine sighs like an old shopkeeper before giving you what you ordered.  A thin brown line of espresso fills your cup.  The room smells homey now.  But you know me, a tea girl to the end. Coffee and tea, you and me.  It's spring and my toes are not yet used to the stretchy warmth of freedom.  NPR on the radio, I walk out barefoot and join you in our cozy little living room. Ours, ours, ours.

Da Feng!

Someone used to leave me things in front of my apartment door all the time.  Scared the shit out of me.  I'd wake up in the morning, open the door, and there'd be a wild gift, usually in the right corner.  Well, it's the right corner if you are me coming out of my apartment in the morning, groggy, running late.  It's the left corner if you also answer to the name "Stalker Santa."  Here is a partial list of what I received.

• Five dimes
  
• A VHS tape entitled Nude Yoga
  
• Two brand-new white tee shirts for men, size large
  
• A desk top pen holder with a sculpture of a little, spotted, tongue wagging dog and a name plate that reads, "Da Feng"
  
• Three quarters
• A clear, 16 oz deli container of assorted cookies

One day, it stopped.  Never did find out who it was and I never kept any of the offerings.  Except the pen holder.  It's on my desk right now.

Haiku

Freed after a storm

Bright roosters in Kuai

Now do what they will

Perhaps

I feel old.  I'm sick of it, actually.  There's nothing I can do about getting old.  When I realized this, it absolutely sucked.  Also, I'm tired of realizing there's nothing you can do about getting old.  It's boring.  Perhaps I will die in front of the television.