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Colombian Black

I keep my sugar airtight
In a stainless steel canister,

To keep it from going bad,
But it’s useless, I’m afraid.

No matter how isolated it is,
The world outside is going bad

All around it. It won’t be long
Before the cylinder buckles

And lets in a hint of corruption,
Some taste, a foul flavor,

And then I’ll have to switch
To drinking my coffee straight black.

Indeed, that shall truly be
A day of mourning.

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