Drinking tea to calm the nerves--it's fundamental.
Brewed tranquility, English tradition,
tea ease as per Earl Gray…
provides me in this quiet place
the calm I need because of my
cousin’s self-righteous arrogance,
her bigotry and pious judgments,
her hate…and so I sip hot liquid
to rid the bad taste in my mouth,
to iron knotted nerves made so
by a peculiar immoral bent
so ascribed to by certain Jesus
credit card holders, wherein
Hell is threat extant, and
bigotry spews forth
and even murder
is condoned…they should
be shot, she said of Gays.
Ah tea, remove me from
the precipice so narrow,
as I might fall into a bottomless
chasm churning molten like
anger, red and sulphur stained.
I let the evanescent vapor waft
into my nares, into my sinus
and my brain so as to lessen
places desert-like, dry as
brittle bones brought on
by bronze age evil thuggery.
Praise be to Earl Gray, I say,
praise be to the very mug I hold,
for it contains a warmth that soothes
and not the heat of temperament
so wounded that it has to crawl.
I raise the mug containing tea
and as I do I let my little finger
loose, to be as free as it may be.
Saint Peter may have tea, perhaps,
at Pearly Gates locale, and when she
comes perhaps he’ll raise
a finger, too.
Writer’s Cramp Winner