Commuter Joe

Pile my grounds on the driveway in the predawn chill.
Pour me cold into the reservoir of the putt and sputter down the block.
Steam me with head heat filtering up at the long light at the end of the street.
Spit me through the flow of sleepy rushing urbanites gritting their teeth before lefting and righting at their designated signals.
Saturate me with the gaze from the panhandlers and cardboard Sharpie slogan slingers who reflect my rumbling pipes in their eyes.
Steep me with silhouettes of winter's naked trees brimming the pink tinged skyline along those old Victorian homes near the river's edge.
Splash me unceremoniously into the mug of bracing wind noise crossing the bridge and passing early cafe and donut shop patrons.
Swirl me around and savor my rich aroma leaning into the last turns toward the spot in the lot.
Drink me down warm and satisfying resting on the stand in the first shafts of true daylight.