I am not an English cup of tea,

bag of dried peppermint leaves strained in boiling water in open mug…

or left to cool in a flask and sink on the go.


I am not your winter hot chocolate, powdered and processed

with spoonfuls of cow milk to suit your refined taste buds and keep your insides warm.

You should know I am raw, uncut and lactose intolerant.


I am not your shot of tequila with lime and salt,

a dash of angry liquid to unravel your senses and scald your throat.

But I can make you shake just the same.

And I will leave that same bitter taste in your mouth.


I am not a bottle of palm wine, kissed by ice and groped by the Sun,

sipped on a hot balcony overlooking a bare street, young black boy manning the wooden gate – the gate-man,

Though I am dense and dark and sweet.


I am not an aluminium can of malt.

But caressing the tab of my ring finger may make me open up.

And if shaken I may explode under the pressure.


I am not a glass of water, clear or transparent, but I can cleanse and refresh you. When holy I can bless you.

And like Hennessey, you will not see through me…

I am too brown, intoxicating and murky.


But still I ask that you choose me.


Because I am all of the aforementioned contents mixed, at different distillations with accented flavours…swirling into one. But still sweet.

And that’s fun… right?

To have so many flavours, licking your tongue like warm rum… so neatly.

It is a tease that I am all of these beverages and none.

Contained, sealed, screwed, uncapped, open mouth, subdued. I never spoil. But there will be times you will repel from me like oil.

After I’ve passed expiry and I am no longer in season, you won’t want to keep me and I will give you no reason for I am treason.

Now call me poison.







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