The coffee beans I grind and scald
Have never answered when I’ve called,
“Good morning, java! How’d you sleep?
Va bene?” Nothing. Not a peep.
The orange and the apple juices
Both observe preprandial truces,
And greet me sweetly, with goodwill
Despite refrigerated chill.
How come the juice and not the joe
Is welcoming, and warmly so?
Speaking of which, the water’s hot!
That’s great news, coffee, right?