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Coffee makes my day, good buddy.
That’s right down to the cup
I like the rich Nicaraguan stuff
That adds chirp to my prose
And grows outside my hut in San Marcos
A stone’s throw from the Panamericana
Nestled in the shade of laurel and banana, workers
Unbloated by corrupt capitalist pretensions
Of either My United Fruit Company Tis of Thee
Or my chock full o nuts neighbor, Big Daddy Starbucks,
Paying his cotton pickin wages.
Well, I give the workers a cup or two of words.
What more?
2011.
