my slippers want for insulation tonight
as I grind coffee in the garage
in order not to wake the boys

I perceive faint steam in my breath
and between pulses of the machine
enjoy the percussion of rain
from exposed rafters

a metropolis of spiders await their meals
leaves pepper the cement floor
a deflated baby pool is draped
over the ladder

the world may end
but the day does not end

coffee beans turn to granules
turn to grains, turn to powder

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