Peter was at the counter granting wishes, so
I ordered a Vanilla Latte with Extra Cream
and sat down.
Truthfully, I don’t know the difference
between a Latte and
Cappuccino, but I think
I was looking for something
in the heavy black cup he handed me.
I thought I’d find Jesus or
something
but I drank the whole thing
until all that was left
was some dried foam and
undissolved sugar crystals--
I’m not even a coffee person and I
was looking for the Son of God in an
eight ounce, four dollar cup of
brown liquid. Fifty cents an ounce and
I wouldn’t complain if there were God
at the bottom, but of course
He was nowhere to be found--
not even when I stirred with a
thin wooden stick and held the cup
to my lips.
The coffee wasn’t as
spectacular as I had expected.
I thought, maybe I would
find God if I came tomorrow
and ordered
another cup, as if He were
some sort of lottery-powerball-magical-
you-won-God-type-of-prize,
but I decided that
maybe Peter didn’t know what
he was doing and forgot
to put God in any
of the cups he gave out.
So I left. Coffee only works
so many miracles.