I knew the day I adopted my coffee machine on 08/25/16 for $9.99 that it was priceless. She was beautiful, slim in the boot and thick in the waist. Her tar skin never belied the ink she so graciously poured, so that I can drink the poison of the bedstraw. But somehow and some way, someone of malicious intent did the unthinkable and split her face down, ass up! I questioned how, HOW? I mean they didn’t break her gracious mouth or her generous brew. But right down in the middle! She was fractured beyond replacement or repair. In selfishness, never ending faith, and loyalty, as I would not have the callous warmth of another touch my lips, I did the unthinkable. I shielded her in companionship with duct tape. The murderous screech of water crawled up her fractured back, as she sought to give Cafe Bustelo a go.
“No!” The last word she had uttered.
As a parent it’s hard to let go.
So, I adopted her kin once more. I knew it wasn’t her, but I came with renewed resolutions. As a proud coffee pot owner, I promised to bathe, clothe, and feed her in the days of her employ. She shall always be washed after use, replaced in her base after a brew, and drink the seeds of… well she was a Hebrew.