Sherman Alexie Ode to Coffee In the coffee shop, the dreadlocked white dude
Orders a complicated drink.
"Man, don't be rude
To that sacred liquid," I think
As the barista pours soy into the brew—
A blasphemous act—and then adds nutmeg.
But worse, this place has the nerve
To grind and serve
Decaffeinated coffee. God, I begYou, please, strike me down if I ever dare
To order that watery swill.
There is no there there.
What fool wants to go unfulfilled?
Why does this dude wear such rebellious hair,
But drink a coffee so neutered and caged?
I want my java hot, complex,
And, O, French-pressed.
I want my coffee to taste like sex and rage.I want my coffee to taste like the brew
Made from the first coffee tree
Shipped, in the 1720s,
Into our country. That beleaguered crew
Repelled pirates, but not before they ripped
A branch off that coffee tree.
It was a grievous injury,
But that tree, nursed and fed, survived the trip,
And was replanted and safely reborn
Inside a hedge of nettles and spears
That bloodied all who came near.
Lord, I'd love my coffee to taste of those thorns.