On a road trip some years ago, while traveling to a reunion,
Twin Falls was full of livestock shows and a fair-trade-show for unions.
We had no place to stay that night after a long day of driving,
so we drove away from city lights exhausted and barely surviving.
When we saw a road sign in the dark declaring that food and shelter
lay just ahead if we’d embark on the exit, helter-skelter.
So we drove up to the Amber Inn, expecting our luck would be chancy,
but considering where we had been, it was nice, though not too fancy.
We got our room, we slept til morn in a modicum of pleasure,
and, good to go, if somewhat worn, all set to leave at our leisure.
Coffee cups filled and tightly gripped, seasoned and ready for travel.
As the car backed, we slowly sipped, then screeched to a stop in the gravel.
Eyes round and wide in ecstasy we tasted again our beverage,
looked at each other breathlessly and wondered who we’d have to leverage
to get the method for this brew, the recipe or the technique,
the most delicious coffee we knew had to have some secret mystique.
So we quickly went back inside to find this magic brewmaster,
but only found three maids beside the coffee machine. Disaster!
We sought the manager: sound asleep. We tried to get instruction
on the brew-brand and how long to steep, but our “Spanish” proved an obstruction.
At last we left, with mugs as filled as we could possibly make them,
wondering if ever we’d be so thrilled or sing other coffee an anthem?
The town, you ask, where we stayed that night? With the best coffee ever tasted?
(The coffee that filled our souls with delight, not one precious drop was wasted.)
Bliss was the name of the Idaho town, bliss was the tasty contender.
Bliss coffee took the high coffee crown, Bliss coffee: unequaled in splendor.
We later returned to the Amber Inn, and traveled on purpose to Bliss,
be found the coffee was weak and thin, we sighed, we cried, hope dismissed.
Still, we hopefully travel and fill up our cups, we won’t pass it up, unknowing.
We never quit, never give up, we try coffee wherever we’re going.
And maybe someday, sooner or late, maybe good fortune confronting,
We’ll leave it to luck, or maybe to fate, and find what we’re constantly hunting.
One can only be lucky but once in life in tasting the gods very nectar,
for life is sorrow, trouble and strife and Bliss coffee is now but a spectre.
Poetic Asides April 15, 2015, Poem-a-Day challenge.