Sometimes an underwhelmed waitress
serves everyone, even passersby
but the one whose order it is,
even when it is, just behind her
waiting and weary of being served
This tea, hot or cold, like her wrath
will flush through
A woman’s temperament is a cartel mystery
A blend of gravel and wool
So cold it burns bridges, so hot it freezes passion
Her wrath is tea, brimming
You will be done and undone in
passing this way
Yet no matter what you decide;
to search or to hide
By the waters, you find them
sharp and soothing
Beneath the snow, you see them
sweet and saucy.
emigrate36@yahoo.com
