Tea

tea
and sympathy
never enough to forestall
the crumbling remains
of yesterday

tea
the cup that cheers
that screams in the quiet
afternoon of normal service
biscuits on the plate small cakes
placed like empty temptation
in the path of our dusks
as evening catches up
and closes our eyes
with caffeinated
sleep

tea
and revolution
stolen mountains
where the leaves of labour
fall in an elsewhere autumn
taken in dim rooms by civilised
people by the genteel
who let the harvest
carry on into
the night

tea
the stark
black brew of work
hardened on the hands like oil
and grime the calloused jealousy
of work the aspiration of generations
to be better than this than history
the work goes on strips away
the heart leaves the dregs
aimless fortunes
to be told

© BH, 2019

---

Another one-word challenge. This time it was ‘TEA’. I’d been scrabbling for a starting point and, courtesy of Martin Hodges, here it was. I figured the stream of semi-consciousness that brought it to light was 20 minutes. Near enough, I guess. With maybe the same again giving it a wee polish.

I thought I’d go Japanese, having done it with cherry blossom a while back, But, no. Memories of fly cups and brickies’-labourer brews flooded my mind.

Ah, the cup that runneth over…