Mr. Last-Cup, Not Re-Brewed

Lyrics

[Intro]
The linoleum is cold this morning.
A walk of need to the little alcove.
Past the bulletin board with its faded notes.

[Verse 1]
And there you are.
The glass carafe on its warming plate.
But the plate's not warm.
And through the glass, a dark promise.
A ring at the bottom.
Hope, for a half-second.

[Verse 2]
I pick you up. You're cool to the touch.
One inch.
He always leaves one inch.
One-point-three fluid ounces of spite.
I pour it into a clean white mug, just to see.
Not even half a swallow.
It smells like yesterday's ambition.
Burnt and forgotten.

[Chorus]
This is the work of Mr. Last-Cup.
He left just enough to say he didn't leave it empty.
Just enough to make it my job.
The quiet hum of disregard.
The morning starts with a debt I didn't ask for.
This is the work of Mr. Last-Cup.

[Verse 3]
I picture him at eight forty-five.
Pouring his mug just so.
Looking at the dregs left behind.
Does he feel a flicker of triumph?
Or does he just not see?
Does the thought of the next person
ever even enter the room?
He walks away. The job is done. His job.

[Chorus]
This is the work of Mr. Last-Cup.
He left just enough to say he didn't leave it empty.
Just enough to make it my job.
The quiet hum of disregard.
The morning starts with a debt I didn't ask for.
This is the work of Mr. Last-Cup.

[Bridge]
The note on the board says "Your mother doesn't work here!"
He probably pinned it there himself.
It’s the shopping cart in the middle of the parking space.
It’s the empty cardboard roll on the holder.
It’s the smallest, sharpest little paper cut
on the soul of the office.

[Outro]
I rinse the pot.
The stale smell goes down the drain.
I fill it with water.
I scoop the grounds.
And I press the button.
The red light comes on.
My morning, re-brewed.
Just a little bit ruined.