Jake's Flea Market

i want the coffee  
to come to my cup made
to be cherished and enjoyed
like a mother knitted sweater

so tell me always how maria
and the many who bring
pails full of cherry babies picked
from coffee plants

pour them out
over the hundreds of thousands
the millions who sleep
already in the bed made for them 
on the concrete pad 
patio under the blue and cloudless 
canopy from which the heat lamp 
sun swings high and hot 

with rakes
in your many motherly hands
spread them out
so each can be touched
equally by the light