A (non-)ode to Bad Coffee
Student life; you’ve caused me strife,
poverty cuts like a knife.
Student loans, they chill my bones,
but for caffeine my tummy moans.
The swill I drink is black as ink,
“This is not coffee,” I think,
“It tastes of bark, of soil too,
it turns my gut and makes it stew,
Free trade?! Bah! Not a chance!”
The coffee label, at first glance,
looks more like a hardware bin
than the tin good beans are in.
I choke it down and do my best
to allow my stomach to digest.
“At least it’s hot,” I justify
but lo, my taste buds do not lie,
the budget beans that I did try
the cheapest you could ever buy,
are not worth the savings of the dough.
This cheap, bad coffee gives me woe,
to save me from future self pity,
I won’t buy coffee that is so shitty.
Written by a literate, privileged white male who, admittedly, made too big of a deal about bad coffee.