Ode to My Red Berry Frescato at Five a.m.

Thick, viscous. Ice-cool. Lifesaver, oh yes.
Slurp. Why, in God’s name, did I always go
For mango? Not a good shout. Yet this, this
Could well be perfection,

How to describe? Let’s start with the basics:
Global capitalism and coffee.
A burgeoning coffee empire, to be
Precise. Hah, almost said Starbucks there.
Tells you something about monopoly.

But nah, Costa…

But yes, five a.m. Sun shafts my eyes
Horizontally through the airport window.
No breakfast, good Lord.
A desperate need for sugar resolved,
A plastic container, that seems to sweat,
A see-through straw slurping out of the top,
The liquid inside, a light Martian red
Beckons with its worldly connotations.

It could be blood, it could be heat, it could
Be Hell, frozen over with condensation.

Its sugar is naughty, its fruit healthy,
And I believe it, despite evidence
To the contrary.

Slurp slurp slurp slurp; finished with a burp
Of consumer satisfaction.

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