It's a lot to unpack: whether
the little collective
of coffee beans I automatically
pulverize each morning—
then sluice
boiled water through—
then throw in the trash
and distractedly
sip the resultant brew
while reading a few Tweets before
dashing out the door—
was heretofore treated equitably
on its journey
from Ecuador to Chicago.
Most days, I'm too distracted
by my ongoing lack
of contentment, too worn out
from last night's argument
at the bar, or else
I just find it a little too convenient-
ly early to contemplate:
whether there is really
such a thing as
a good person,
a better thought,
a noble action—
or if it just feels that way
by comparison
when one tends to go around
thoughtlessly extracting
only those bits
which are most useful
from one
bitter assemblage—
one shit-
situation—after another.
