Are We Addicted?
Are we addicted to coffee, the question remains,
Back in SA, it pulsed through our veins.
We had our machine, a sleek little prize,
A five-year obsession, no need to disguise.
We’d sit at the bar like posh little twats,
Sipping our shots, talking flavourful stats.
A barista would guide us, profiles galore,
As we plotted our next machine, yes, in-store.
We weren’t rich, just caught in the game,
Thinking we’re fancy, sipping with fame.
Still not posh. Let’s be real. Just keen.
But… that little buzz, made us feel seen.
Now years have passed, in a new Euro zone,
Still chasing that fix in a coffee-proud home.
We left behind all that we knew,
Brought nostalgia, some towels, maybe one shoe.
Yet every damn time there’s a sale in the air,
We jump like addicts with reckless flair.
Forget bad backs or a bed that’s shot,
If there’s a new coffee machine, we’ve gotta have that lot.
It’s not just any — oh no. It’s top-tier,
A deal of a lifetime, the bargain is clear.
Who cares if at home we already own
A machine that’s perfect, tried and known?
So are we addicted, or craving a name?
Is it comfort, nostalgia, or status and fame?
I sip as I ponder, still unsure how
But one thing’s for certain: I need coffee now.
Image Generated by ChatGPT - Are we Addicted?
About this Poem
Are We Addicted? is a caffeinated reflection on obsession, nostalgia, and the strange rituals that give life a sense of identity. Set against the backdrop of emigration, memory, and that ever-evolving quest for the “perfect machine,” the poem captures the humour and hollowness of modern comfort-seeking. It’s about more than coffee. It’s about clinging to old habits in a new place, trying to recreate a feeling with new vigour, a status, or just a little slice of home in every cup.
