One of the great shames of my life is that I do not like coffee. There were a few weeks in middle school were I tried to, you know, become an adult. But it never quite worked out. Other adults seem skeptical of people like me, and of the fact that I generally do not have too much trouble waking up in the morning. (Avoiding an afternoon nap is another thing.)
With that in mind, I wanted to share a (bad) poem I wrote about not liking coffee (or tea), and the social angst that comes with it.
I wish I were a real adult,
Who drank coffee proper.
Culture might value me more, and,
I’d have lots to offer.
Real adults cradle, clutch coffee,
Hold it to their bosom,
Morning rite’s righteous talisman,
Wards off impending doom.
A proper adult can even,
Take succor from black tea,
To do so, of course, ignores her,
But tea drinkers can rightly claim,
My tastes rebel at what must be
Oh! Shame! You ordered hot cocoa,
When adults got Java?
Your troglodytic sense of style,
Might as well get cola.
But I guess this is why I went,
To earn a grad degree.
Lesser ones should know their betters,
And as such I know thee.
But, take pity on me would you?
Real adults drink coffee.