Tepid coffee


We were creatures of the night, consuming decadence of prohibition bars, sultry jazz and acid booze; with smoke of cigarettes hanging from your crimson lips we burnt like moths in candle-light.

But depression came with harshness of a February dawn. Your poisoned pregnancy came with screams and greasy windowpanes. In blood and mold we grew apart.

Now in silence of his death our table separates, a sea of grimy Formica between us, I let my fingertips remember the double rhythms of bass and drums from our youth.

My bile of bitterness tastes of the tepid coffee in my Styrofoam mug.

 © Madison Woods

© Madison Woods

It’s been a while since I joined up with Friday Fictioneers, but after 4 weeks of silence I’m glad to be back. This week I wanted to do something a little outside the box from the prompt. How I come from McDonalds to the prohibition time I cannot explain, but certainly the decadence of the time seems to fit with the moth and candlelight.

Friday fictioneers is like a virtual bar, where we bring our stories every week as Rochelle tends the bar.

it’s better to burn out than to fade away




August 12, 2015

72 responses to “Tepid coffee

  1. Ha. I didn’t think of styrofoam as Mcdonalds, exactly, I read the tepid cup moment as being years later, so it didn’t bother me! Anyway, well done. k.

  2. Its hard. Things change so fast. You go from all the glitz of love and wildness to barely standing each other. I think responsibility is hard for some as well. When you introduce pregnancy and how having kids will change you relationship and life – it can get dicey.

  3. I love how vaguely you write. The pregnancy could have ended in abortion or miscarriage, or maybe the baby was born but was sick and died. The pregnancy could just be a metaphor. The relationship/marriage could be a metaphor. And all of it with coffee at the heart of the poem! Excellent work.

    I love these:
    “consuming decadence of prohibition”
    “poisoned pregnancy came with screams and greasy windowpanes”
    “grimy Formica”
    “I let my fingertips remember the double rhythms”

  4. So much sadness and regret in this story! Beautiful details: –
    “Now in silence of his death our table separates, a sea of grimy Formica between us, I let my fingertips remember the double rhythms of bass and drums from our youth.”
    Loved the metaphor of burning like moths in candle-light!

  5. Great use of the moth symbol- burning bright & burning out. The phrase poison pregnancy is brilliance & you feel the devestating impact it’s had on the relationship.
    Powerful

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