old John down by the counter likes his coffee black,
black as night, says John as he takes a sip in the sun,
but I know as a fact he sneaks a packet of sugar in
every now and again, just to add a little sweetness to
that dark brew in a white ceramic cup with a crack along the side.

he takes another sip, and says to Mack two stools down
something about carburetors; John’s a mechanic you know,
or so he says at least, we’ve given up figuring out his
finagling yarns long ago, way back before we even knew
about the secret sweetener stashed away in his pocket.

so I ask John how the coffee is as I take my seat
this morning, expecting some humorous reply in short order;
turning to me with eyes brightened by Erma’s strong caffeine,
he taps his nose ever so slowly and smiles, pearly teeth against an ebony facade,
sayin' in a tone all quiet-like: “sweet as sugar Davie, sugar in my night.”