The Might-have-beens Coffee Machine

Beth
We bought it when I thought we could be happy.
I took it to remind me we weren’t.
The coffee is black and going cold,
Tastes burnt. The bean-sack said Fairtrade
But I don’t trust labels. Or beans. Or Ben.
I was betrayed in the sack. Only one letter lacks
From Bean to Ben. A bean lied to me once
And so did he, and I deserve a new machine,
Which Dad will buy, fit for his Princess:
Each pod it uses an indestructible little emptiness.
Yes.

Ben
If she had taken the coffee machine
Maybe she’d be using it thinking of what might have been.
Maybe the drips would make her think of me.
When Chelsea needed me I didn’t have Decaff.
Maybe in that moment the baby had to die
Because I was unprepared. Scared. And in my head
Beth drank her coffee, is dismantling the machine,
Knocking out the grounds. Had we been married
Would they be grounds for divorce? Could I catch them
Dark and warm and stinking in my hands, go into reverse ?
I need a warm drink, to wake up, be a nurse.
Can I reset to coffee for one?
No.

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