NOT MY CUP OF TEA

NOT MY CUP OF TEA

Well, I didn’t want tea anyway.

I asked for Chianti wine,

but she shook her head and pointed

to the cup. “This will do just fine.”

I did not want to offend her,

she seemed the fragile kind,

so, I took the tea and drank some,

told her I did not mind.

Oh, the British tea was steaming,

it burned my upper lip.

I spit it out like a whale’s spout

spraying passing ships.

Well, I didn’t want tea anyway,

I ventured once again.

In Sicily, it’s Chianti wine

and we drink it quite plain:

No crumpets or flaky scones,

no biscuits dunked to swim.

Sicilian boys grow tough and brave

with glasses filled to brim.

And by the way, I said once more:

I didn’t want the tea.

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