Tea is a potent, versatile beverage. Why,
It can be used for a hundred things if it can
Be used for one. You can stew things in it,
Like a sock, I suppose. Which then, if they
Say things that are true, will be 75%, at the
Very least, cancer-free. Delightful pair of
Antioxidantal socks! I’ll wear three.
And then there’s the tea bath, which I’m sure
To try as soon as it cools to less than the
Boiling point. The point of which, I’m sure
Is something for the skin, if you were to
Add oatmeal, and mushrooms, and lilacs
You’d have discovered the bathtub of
Youth. And then you could sell it to people
In bottles. And then there’s the roast that
You thought of for dinner, but roasting a
Roast seems too predictable, so you soaked
It in tea, a chocolate kind, until it was tender
Enough to tear, and then you basted it well,
Simmered ‘til tender again, and heaped a great
Dollop of mashed ‘tatoes on top of it.
But I think that a tea worth the tea on its own—
Gingers and greens, blacks and oolongs,
Should be savored with Emeril, a dimly lit
Room, and a firing furnace of heat at your
Back. Provided, of course, it’s October to
March. Any other time, and it’s better on ice,
With a drizzle of milk and a sprinkle of sugar.
And oh, how my day would be boring,
Quite boring indeed! Were it not for the tea,
Black, green, chocolate, and brown,
That settles into my mug. I think I am developing
An immunity; how many antioxidants can I get
Before the radicals, free little bastards,
Are tied three times over with tiny, green chains?
So I drink another cup: thinking of baths, and
A hotbed of Food Network delights, drawing
Saliva from crannies and nooks on the tongue.
But mostly, of course, I drink tea because it
Starts with the letter “T.” And any fine drink
Worth its liquid, dubbed a letter alone,
Should be all the pleasure one ever will need.
Call me an abecedarian; it’s time for my fifth
Mug of tea.