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:
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.”