First thing in the
morning,
Or sometimes well
towards the afternoon,
Only the thought of a
hot white mocha
Can keep me from
falling to the ground.
I live in the brewing
pot of the U.S. of A.
The Babylon, if you
will, of Coffee,
In all its permutations.
For the uninitiated,
the green bean, the freshly pressed
To taste of Portland’s
finest blackest nectar,
I give you the
following:
Most famous of its caffeinated
brethren, Starbucks--
Will likely find you before
you find it.
Like the foggy, soggy
streets of its Sound origins,
The Bux is bitter,
dark, and misted with cinnamon and murky with cream.
Dutch Bros, on the
other hand,
Has that southern Jeffersonian
warmth,
Whose principal fault
is that sweetness
Which goes straight
to your head,
And will bite any
visitors that stick around.
Another favorite is
Ava Rosteria,
Deep and rich with
the art
And care of Italy,
And will empty your
wallet if you fail to pay attention.
Or perhaps you prefer
something a little more quick,
And a little more
easy.
In that case, I
direct you to K & F on Clinton Street,
Which, like the fast,
well-educated literary lovers of Stumptown,
Seems smooth, and
light,
But if you’re not
careful to catch him early,
Will literally keep
you up all night.
