i brewed a cup of expensive coffee,
how much, you might ask,
well, i’d prefer not to get into that,
but let’s just say that if i had kids (which i don’t, thank goodness),
then they probably wouldn’t be going to college
sometimes generalizations hurt, but other times they just look like summations
that were too lazy to finish a thought,
and so now they’re kinda wasting away
on the front of a newspaper that no one reads anymore
because print media is dead, or so that’s what everyone says
i was invited to la hermosa coffee farm in guatemala,
to see what lies beneath the soil,
what comes out from beneath to spin the world
in dizzying arrays of wondrous tastes dancing across the palate,
but maybe i’m just romanticizing seeing a coffee farm for the first time
in my life,
and the reality, i’m afraid to say, afraid to admit, afraid to see,
will be grossly underwhelming,
but i guess if that’s the case, i can always drink myself half to death
and pretend that i’m not really here
Fred Aiken Writing 