The wooden cabinet opened

as I stood on my tiptoes 

flailing around in a place to far up to see

instantly grasping the cool glass rim

with a chip taken out of its left side.

Slowly I brought my prize down to my chest 

then spun lazily on my toes 

to place it under to coffee machine 

where I would wait impatiently 

for the time to roll by 

and for the mug to be filled.

the brown exterior matched over a hundred others 

usually filled with sweet, sometimes bitter liquid 

that was made to the customers choosing.

Older woman would carry ten of its brothers

racing back and forth 

in order to please everyone in there company. 

The mug, finally filled to the brim 

Allowed me to sit in peace 

with each sip bringing back memories.

memories of mediocre food 

And beyond great stories 

told by all ages 

clinking forks and clacking brown mugs

friendly voices asking how my week was 

or how the Sox’s game went 

asking what college I’m going to or if lacrosse season started

wanting so desperately to know me 

and the stories I have to tell.

but as the cup was drained 

the sound of warm goodbyes 

and promise of meeting at the same time next week 

to chat and eat

and drink from the same cup all over again.