Poem: Same Coffee as it Ever Was

Truck stop coffee in a styrofoam cup
Idling on a burner late into the evening
Has a caffeinated timeless quality to it
Much like the elderly lady at the register
Who watches wearily the wandering aisles
Of road dusted bodies pouring black coffee
Into white cups that cost a dollar and change
No matter where in the country you are
The drink itself always tastes the same
Slightly burnt yet mellow not unpleasant 
For the weaker souls there’s always creamer
Non-dairy in plastic cups and sugar
In a dirty shaker that would fail inspection
Anywhere other than the time stopped station
In the middle of nowhere on a dark road
That’s still serving the same coffee
My grandfather probably drank on his travels

Maybe the connection is a memory
Transcending time and location
Running deep through bitter grinds percolating

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