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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