Constant

Since my dad started putting

A teaspoon full in my milk,

Coffee has been the thing

Most constant in my life.

Hills Brothers I think,

In a red two pound can.

My dad put three spoons of sugar in his,

Except for the era of sugar cubes,

Before Juan Valdez and his donkey,

Around our steel rimmed,

Red Formica topped kitchen table

With matching chairs.

It was in the middle fifties before sputnik,

When I still believed

I would always be safe

And our leaders were good,

And I could grow up to be Davey Crockett.

I wore my coonskin cap with such pride,

And strode around in it

On my little legs

Ready to conquer the world,

And take on all comers,

And always be the good guy.

And now I’m on the other end of things,

The sixties, Viet Nam, the good dying young,

And all my personal failings.

Most of my illusions have been shed with the years,

With the bumps and bruises of living,

But a few of my dreams still hang on,

For good or ill, I have not given up,

And I still have coffee.