Burst out of roots, generations old,
Grounded in the East;
Am I a party fizz, served cold
Or the warm buzz of lethal, chunky heritage?
For something seemingly saccharine,
I kick back at seven percent;
I know you’ll ignore that well-meant warning,
And boy, you’ll hurt in the morning.
Chilled under sun-bleached summer,
Golden and rounded
Spicing and bubbling through winter,
Cloudy and clouding.
Author notes
This is about European cider ('hard' cider), which is alcoholic and pretty potent.
A contest entry
- Pour Me A Drink, Please by Dalaney.
775 points, ended October 27, 2007, 13 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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this work is refreshing...just a great
style all away around...thanks for entering.
love, lane
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I love the sassiness of that second stanza and oh, ain't it the truth?
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Scrumpy always seems such a good idea 'the night before the morning after'!
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Is that what they call it - Scrumpy? That is We call it "Most".
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