I Wonder

There is a poor woman who lives in Colombia,

Her house is a shack, her dog can't wag its tail.

She looks at her children,

And prays they have a chance to break,

The poverty that has become her life.

She works in the fields…

And picks coffee beans to support her family.

The sun is so hot on her neck...

The money she makes barely covers the cost,

Of her day to day obligations.

She doesn't know where her efforts are seen,

Her only job is to pick the beans, not to think about them.

And where do these beans end up?

They get imported to affluent countries,

Now that simple bean,

Is transformed to a "Colombia Supreme" blend,

And 25lb easily goes for over $100…

The question I wonder,

The person here brewing their coffee,

Absorbing the aroma,

Salivating at the taste of this amazing coffee bean-

Do they have any idea really where it came from?

Could they possibly understand the sacrifices tied,

To picking this simple bean?

Or is the taste of this euphoric coffee,

Enough to not make them think deeper? 

Would it be too much to take a minute,

To recognize the efforts that actualize our desires?

I wonder.