This morning over breakfast,

getting coffee from the can,

I happened to spill some on the bench,

I did spill a little man,

‘Ah! What life? How good it is to live!’

Now what’s your holy plan, my Lord?

What service can I give?’

Alas, my little coffee friend,

I made you by mistake,

Now by this cloth your life will end,

Your life I’ve deemed to take.

‘But wait!’ he begged

‘please hear my case!

Then kill me if you must!

And if you feel that I must die,

Then in your plan I trust.’

Okay, I said, I’ll hear you out

I’ll let you have a try

You have until my toast is done,

For a just God am I.

‘Well first’ he said, ‘before I die,

I asked not to be born,

But now that I am breathing,

How have I earned your scorn?’

‘Tis not your actions I resent,

I told him in reply,

But your puddle on my kitchen bench,

Is heinous to the eye.

‘But you!’ he pointed up at me

With his tiny coffee hand,

‘your kind have wrecked this planet whole

How can you reprimand?’

To my shame, I must admit,

I was taken aback,

What do you know, coffee man?

How make you this attack?

‘Before I was a coffee drink,

I was but a bean,

I’m not fairtrade, you’d not believe

The crazy shit I’ve seen.

Forests felled, creatures killed,

T’would make your weak gut wretch.

And here you are protecting what?

Your precious kitchen bench?’

I must admit, with it’s wit,

The man had made me pause,

Before I sent him all the way,

To coffee-heaven’s doors.

Words by Luke C Martin.


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