Monday, February 20, 2017

Your Coffee

From hills in Central America
Or perhaps Africa
Precious Black Gold
Endures a voyage like no other

Such toil entailed
From harvesting trails
By sails to shores of America
Entrusted to your favorite barista

But your coffee
I dared not partake
For it told a tale
Before I availed
Of intentions neither golden
Nor precious –but sour

I confess, I foresaw
Coffee brewed:
-too hot with rage
-too stale with age
With ample chortles and snorts
Such bitterness your beans betrayed!

So you see
The only coffee
By which my being disarms
Is steeped with loving regard
For me