He repeatedly removes and replaces the lid to his coffee cup as though it’s a metaphysical quandary he’s debating.
Coffee is the ambrosia of intellectuals,
And his with his lineage, it must have been in his baby formula.
In some families all the children must go to war; in his they go to Cal.
He’s traveled more countries than US states (“Like 20 or 30?”),
Knows the bitter of Danish licorice and the sour of Hungarian textiles,
Insightful and informed, yet he lacks the predictable pompous of inbred academia.
He listens more than he interjects,
tastes more than he gulps.
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