America Runs on Dunkin

She asks me, Quieres café?

And I respond you are too sweet.

Too sweet to the point that I don’t have to take a sip from this Colombian coffee

Because you helped me rise when I fell deep and saw nothing but fake images.

Figures that gashed this drain in my chest to catch my tears of woe

As I watch them grind up the pure fruit that came from our branches.

Because some of them can’t handle caffeine like we do.

So they water us down,

And use our embers to fertilize their names.

Because only color this opaque can be used as ink to draw out their targets.

Where innocent lives had lost their purity through the kiss of gun

For they had mistaken the words te ammo

As the Spanish way of expressing love.

You see they like the taste of our trust,

How we brew ourselves in gore,

To satisfy their thirst as they drink from the grail that we have given them,­­­­­

Because we were promise a kingdom held in good hands.

But they seem not to understand the art of cafe

They seem not the understand the difference between vanilla and chocolate

On how they both carry altered aromas but sustain the same pigmentation,

How caramel is only greater in taste when the sugar is darkened,

And how adding creamer will still give you an ecru beverage.

So they frap us with different brands,

They write different descriptions on the clothes we wear

And translate our words into assumptions

Because they don’t speak our languages.

Because America runs from Dunkin.

They run away from commitment

And only worry about what we have to bring to this table.

Because this,

This is a one night stand,

You either serve or be tossed into the fire like a foam cup

Because that is how recycling is done here.

And I think of all this as she passes me this cup of coffee,

Despite the fact that she already knows that I carry that natural boost in my system.

 But even athletes have their cheat day.

And she,

She’s been couching me on how to jump obstacles since the day she gave birth to me.

So I listen to her.

Because momma knows what’s best for her children.

You see every cup is different

Like her wardrobe.

She can look sporty, formal, casual yet she always seem to be in the kitchen

Because she works as a cook in the Sheraton hotel.

And no matter how ugly her uniform is,

It carries this beautiful dark skinned figure that people tend to treat oh so bitterly

Yet she stay sweetened como el café de Colombia.

 You see, she is one of many.

A grain that traveled a great distance in order for her roots to grow

For it seemed as though the sun shined a bit more up north.

But this place is only brighter when family trees are taken down to make gun powder,

The artificial sweetener used in their drinks.

Because brown sugar can give you cancer.

But what I’ve heard is that the main cause of cancer is the lack of exercise.

Where people fail to understand that un vaso de café es bueno para el corazon.

Because this coffee is made with love,

Because God created man in his own image.

But people don’t seem to like reading,

No.

People don’t like to walk on historical grounds,

Because it would be a waste of gas to work on that train of thought.

Instead they like to plagiarize the hard work of others and call it day.

Then repeat themselves the next morning.

But before they do,

They ask for a cup of coffee as they take in their daily dose of stereotypes

Because that seems to be the only way it would taste like freedom.

So a toast to America,

For being the land of the free and the home of the brave.

But never forget that America runs on Dunkin.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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