Break me into bigger pieces, so some of me is home with you.

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.


One response

  1. Pingback: Squeaky Wheel | G Danger

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