The waitress offered me coffee,
My bloodshot eyes looked at her yellow teeth:
'Yes that sounds nice.'
It was cold and bitter.
As I swallowed
I rolled my tongue
Like a steady wake.
To taste the bitterness on my throat.
I set the cup down atop my newspaper.
Lifted it back up to my lips,
Peered down at the newspaper,
Noticed a brown ring bordering a headline.
Where my cup had been.
‘U.S. Economy Gains Steam
After Great Recession.'
The headline read.
'How quaint.' I mumbled.
Our pain and suffering was given a title.
It's clever and all,
But what were we recessing from?
I remember hearing college students shouting:
'Occupy' and 'revolution.'
Watching economic professors from ivy-league schools
Decorated in make-up and color coated designer suits.
'We need to blame the bankers
That lent out money to people
They knew couldn't afford the loans.'
Words are fun.
(Trust me I am a poet)
But a revolution without guns
Is like a cold cup of coffee.
A person will feel the effects of the caffeine,
But the flavor and aroma
Are lost on temperature and time.
All along we sat waiting in tents,
Waiting for change.
Waiting for the coffee
To re-heat itself.
A.j. Binash's Other Poems
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