It annoys my guests
that I don’t measure my coffee.
I “eyeball it,” I tell them,
shake enough grounds
into the filter until it looks right.
They don’t like it.
My family, friends, even house guests
feel the need to question, admonish,
even before they’ve had a taste,
they know it won’t be right.
“Wait,” I tell them, you’ll see.
It’ll be as good a cup of coffee
as any you’ve ever sipped.
After it’s dripped, poured, with or without
the milk they want or don’t want,
they’re almost disappointed by its perfection,
mad at me for the rest of the morning,
until their annoyance fades into an afternoon
of questioning other things that don’t add up:
“Why do my flowers die when I water them
exactly according to directions?”
“How could he lie and get away with it?”
“How is it she jumped from the cliff
and survived?”