Ode to Dunkin Donuts

A dozen rounds covered
instead of gunpowder,
it is the white powder
of sweet delight.

I await her hand to
turn the handle on the steam
and let the coffee
drip, drip, drip.

I smelled that coffee
as I entered the plastic pink
and orange handled doors.
It was all America,
except now you could get
avocado from Mexico on your eggs and
toast.

That is fine with me.
I am from Cuba and we call
them rosquillas,
but our daughters call them
donuts.
They don't know.

That's all right.
I want them to fit in with
America, so they can get
good jobs.

Sugar and milk,
eggs and flour,
it's all so good
but I would rather have
ham and eggs
with toast and guava.



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