Saturday, July 20, 2013

Dennis Villelmi- A Poem

"Bad Coffee"

In Purgatory, count on bad coffee;
Count on it every "morning."
"Morning" here is just another sin relived;
It's not a rising sun, but the nauseating blue
And white tiles that glow when your case worker comes
To visit.
There's a radio station to listen to as your sipping
That bad black brew in your blue & white tiled room,
Awaiting that visit.  But it's just the one station, and no good
Turning the knob 'cause all you'll get is hell static. 
And on that single station, broadcast, so they say, from the
Place awaiting your grace is the same program; the same
Scripted lines of a story that was yours (well, should've been
Yours) where always there's the comment about how great the
Coffee is. 
Finally, the tile stops glowing when...well, when the angel pulls
Up a chair and sits across the table from you.  He opens your
File and sifts through it silently before asking if you'd like
Another cup just as you're finishing the last one he brought.
He pushes it towards you in stained styrofoam; the usual
Bad black brew from a café with no name, for in hell names
Are a touchy subject.
You raise it to your lips, that sin you committed.  And as you
Turn the radio off, again the blue & white tiles glow.
Another "morning" in purgatory.

Bio note: I'm a writer living in the mountains of southwest VA.  I've been writing poetry for years, and have had poems published on dagdapublishing in the UK.

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