Catharine Macauley

Rookie (North Bay, Ontario)

Bitter Coffee

The steam rises off of my latte, twists in the cold air,
Like smoke, rising off of a burning village,
A latte costs three dollars Canadian,
It would cost an American two fifty,
It would cost a man in a boardroom wearing an expensive suit one phone call,
For a whole shipment of beans,
In Colombia, most people can’t afford lattes.
My frappachino is cold, the air is hot,
Condensation rolls off it, like a tank rolling through the streets of Bogota,

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