My Grandad taught me
coffee soup when I was just a lad,
a snack digested dentureless,
that never tasted bad.
He broke up saltine crackers,
in a large bowl almost full,
then poured in sweetened coffee,
that was steaming hot, not cool.
All the crackers would swell hugely,
forming such a lovely mass,
then he'd slurp it down
with ooos and ahhs,
assured that it would pass.
It never was a gourmet feast,
but its flavor was unique
some ancient mix he'd handed down,
that he ate three times a week.
Perhaps learned as a hobo
when he used to ride the rails,
seeking work during the depression,
mixed in old tin pots or pails.
I ate it till I turned eighteen,
then suddenly lost my taste
for coffee soup, that chewy goop,
a caffeine infused paste.
But it can be addictive,
he slurped it till he died,
then Grandma washed his coffee bowl,
then dried it as she cried.
It's something everyone should try,
it tastes quite good you see,
so make a bowl, but tell no one,
the recipe's from me.
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