Our Zelda's Inferno exercise: write a poem from the POV of a historical, fictional, or mythological character. I starting thinking about the guy who picked the beans for my coffee...
I have heard that in America they
Drink coffee in the boardrooms of the big companies that own the world
And in the restaurants where one mean costs more than I make in a year
And in coffeehouses where musicians and poets meet
There is no music, no poetry, here in the fields
Just the sun, the soil, the rain
The aching backs of the workers
The thuggery of the bosses
There is not much for us
We do not own the world, or even our own homes and fields
Jose's uncle has been to America
He says he saw a place selling a cup of coffee for more than we make in a day
I wonder how it is to live like that.