Coffee Shop

The doughnuts crystallize over each other,

sopping in granulated sugar,

the round biospheres,

awaiting to be discovered by Magellan.

The beans roasting, as if embarking on an

eternal fight with fire,

thirty, then eighty years, Prince Rupert can’t

even stand it.

The beans grinding, a torture chamber for

the rigid,

extreme hardships until the Spartans are

coarse.

The hissing serpent mocks the customer,

spewing black gunk from its mouth.

The brewing of coffee smothers the air,

restricting little Johnny’s airway, as he reads

his copy of The Bell Jar.

French vanilla, a young European

Bonaparte,

branches off and crowns itself emperor,

against the mediocre vanilla.

Little Johnny slurps the toxin from the cup,

sucking life for himself,

the fountain of youth.

Juan Ponce de León, the conquistador

obsessing over his search,

terrible he never knew the fountain would be in a

boy’s hand.

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