Better Than Morning Coffee
is like that artificial sweetener
That folks swear makes
their morning coffee better
Even after its cloying aftertaste
Is spat from their contorted mouths…
A construct so deeply ingrained
That its curators
Couldn’t identify the original
Even if it smacked them on the face
And called itself “Human.”
The saccharine-laced hypocrisy—
In all its rare and beautiful
That makes you check the
Or “Other” box
To ensure that you will never be
is the cancer the researchers,
who swear by these sugary counterfeits
but never in their published reports on your well-being,
don’t want you to find out about.
Because, well, being your kind of human
Isn’t exactly profitable.
Life and death sits on the tongue
The human tongue… that
Still sings the Sunday school
Ode to racial segregation—
Red and yellow, black and white—
Which tastes bitter
without the melody…
But I digress….
Who am I to judge
The taste of your morning coffee?
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