Home » cho 17.1 | Apr. 2021 Table of Contents » Gerry Jacobson, Coffee Cantata

Gerry Jacobson

Coffee Cantata

in the grey dawn
good morning bakery
Canberra Times
black coffee … poppy seed roll
aspirin … indapamide

At the Petty Cash Cafe in Marrickville the other day Rosa asks me, “How many coffees a day do you have, Grandad?” She’s eleven now and curious. She still enjoys milkshakes but sees me drinking coffee, and of course, at home, there’s her mum and dad.

long dark hair
and polished black boots
a tattooed lady
serves my ‘skinny cap’
it’s rather strong

I tell her that I usually have two cups a day, occasionally three. But three makes me twitchy nowadays. I remember doing fieldwork in Lampung, at the south tip of Sumatra, where the world’s finest coffee is grown. The beans were laid out in the village street to be crushed by passing vehicles. I was there on an Australian aid project and with the work tensions, drank so much coffee that I didn’t sleep that whole month. Now if I go to a café to write tanka in the afternoon, I switch to tea; a bit less caffeine.

two magpies perch
on the back of my chair
at a pavement café
my tea has grown cold
alas I’ve no cake 

The present café habit began at the tail end of my working life. Cycling to work and feeling reluctant I paused at the local bakery to warm up and read the newspaper for a while. When I retired I walked the dog daily and called in at the bakery. By the time the dog died, it was ingrained. Now I just roll out of bed and go down to a café to start the day.

foggy dew morning
in Farmers Daughter
a ‘long black’
the newspaper’s dismal
and damn the sudoku

Alas, the Yarralumla Bakery has also retired but we still have two good cafes in our suburb. They open at 7 am. And we still have the Canberra Times although it’s dumbed down now. I’m sometimes tempted to switch to the alternative morning paper. Or should I read a smartphone like everyone else?

I sip
the flower in the froth
of my ‘flat white’…
that slightly bitter
aftertaste of love

About the Author

Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia, and can be found writing tanka in its cafes.  He was a geologist in a past life and now celebrates reincarnation as a dancer.

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