Grounds (a poem)

Ah, coffee! Tasty and inspiring…

The residue collects at the bottom of the cup
becoming the grit in my last swallow
like accidentally drinking sand
from the beach drink after the spill

I rinse and I rinse
but I still feel the crunch between my teeth
and I wonder how to rid myself of the stain
that now marks my once-clean shirt

I feel the reassuring touch on my hand
by its conspicuous absence
The only visible evidence
is the single coffee ground I wiped from my mouth

(21 June 2015—posted June 22)