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