Whenever I’m invited round,
For a mid-afternoon chat,
I know there’ll be a question asked,
That I’ll have to bridle at.
It always comes as I sit down,
They’ll smile so graciously,
And open their mouths to those fatal words:
“Can I make you a cup of tea?”
When asked how I prefer my brew,
I roll my eyes and sigh.
My shoulders slump, I shake my head,
And sharply I reply:
“I do not care for steaming leaves,
In a white, bone-china cup.
No sweetened mess of PG Tips,
To nauseate my gut.
No, I desire a stronger mix,
An aromatic treat,
A liquid blend, so rich and dark,
That nothing else can beat.
A roasted taste that’s heaven-sent,
A texture smooth as silk,
And it’s served best in a great, big mug
No sugar, thanks. Or milk.”
The host will smile uncertainly,
And apologise with grace,
As she shuffles back off to the kitchen,
With an eagerness to her pace.
The minutes pass and she’ll return,
With the steaming vessel I’d planned,
And my face will light up as I take the first sip,
Of the warm ‘caffé nero’ in hand.
Author notes
My second poem about coffee and I have to say... this came out of nowhere! A sudden surge of inspiration quite late and night and this little ditty was born.
Just a bit of fun really, but still feel free to critique! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Can't stand coffee. ~mumbles~
But the poem was great. Not sure I know of anyone else with such a grasp on flow and linking lines together, seemingly without a pause at all.
-
Love it!
It's so you. I judt don't know how you manage to think of so many words and for them all to rhyme and such. Really great.
Adding your comment:
