Hot Chocolate

As painful as the first sip of coffee,

the thought of the future burns my mind.

My little boy’s coffee mug,

hot chocolate staining the rim,

is a grim reminder of his evolving youth.

I can already see him:


confused; and

wallowing due to his failures.


“Daddy, can I have coffee with you?”


I make his cup of hot chocolate

and we have a seat at the table.


“Don’t grow up. Okay, buddy?”


Chocolate stains his lip and he smiles.

“I don’t like coffee. So, I won’t grow up.”

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