What do I want to say
about that horrible cinnamon tea?
Maybe I would start that:
I wager Shakespeare would change “What is in a name?”
lose all gathered wealth and all delicious fame
and make the line: “what is in this horrible
malady outrageously priced
this brazen daylight theft
this ungodly heist!
this mug of indignation
goblet of woe and powdered clay
gastronomy dies today
this pain is castration!
What, I ask, though unable to speak
is the humiliation
that is this cup of tea, this stench and reek?
This is not tea and water
This, my cohorts, is seawater
without the privilege
of sea creatures to see.”
I might want to add
that it was the first drink
she and I had ever had
I was dressed in my best attire
and dumb as I am, a fool aplenty
not knowing the affliction about to beset me
bought two cups of a drink diseased and dire
Into our cups they poured liquid suicide
I carried our cups back to where we sat
expecting the spice of fire and cool of breeze
not knowing the concoction I held in my hand
compared more to dung roasting at the feet of trees.
I kissed her hand
and the moment was incredible
but when we sipped our drinks
my tongue shouted, “Fuck you! This is terrible!”
You would betray me so?
Tea, my sweetest friend
my friend and never foe
my ally from so long ago
Tea is tea is tea is tea, but is tea
Like you too, Brutus?
would become like coffee
and taste like a kick to the gluteus?
That said, I would have another
Oblige me, dear waiter
for until she return
I shall await her
In fact, make it two
and bring one for my love with you
so that I may gaze upon her
and kiss her hand anew
And burn our throat
with your brown death-stew
Or hold the tea if without it
she might yet come
hell! for memory’s sake
just bring me some.