The smell of roasted coffee
In the morning
Percolating corridors of prayer
Made mass and meditation
Fairly bearable
At the end of prayer
The coffee would be there
The coffee custom
Came to us from Europe
From Italy
From Naples in the south
The dark inviting brew
Kick started mornings
Its potent flavour
Welcome in the mouth
Here in the land
Where tea was king
Our continental cousins
Newness bring
Roasted coffee beans
Every morning
Made us feel
That we were in the swing
For fifty years
I kept the sacred ritual
Coffee for my breakfast every day
Until a doctor told me
Skip the coffee
Ten years now
I’m only drinking tea
But I’m tempted
As I pass the shelves in Waitrose
To pick a packet
Of that sacred brew
To taste again
The sweetness of those mornings
When life was mass and coffee
All I knew
Brian Fahy
4 October 2021
Erris Poetry 