TEA LEAVES HELD CLUES

I  wonder why the present government does not just call it a day. Twelve years of tory misrule and every aspect of our lives is worse. Honestly they are, as my mother would have said, an absolute shower. Here's a new poem inspired by my mother's superstitions. She always maintained that death come in threes.

IMMUTABLE

I hear of two so search for the third

as death always comes in threes

this is a hard and fast law

my mother steered our family by such stars

bad things can happen any time

tea leaves held clues

and she interrogated every cup for omens

but none were as accurate as

Coop Indian Prince Assam

she never held with teabags

until she was old

and the cataracts had clouded her eyes

until the Coop shut

all three shops in the town

one after another just like that

some things never change

I've been working away on this poem for the last two weeks and I think it's roughly about there. They've jazzed up the packet but you can still buy Indian Prince. These days though I only drink green tea and am partial to Mao Feng. Like my mother I do not hold with teabags. What do you favour? 

I feel I have to leave you with Stevie Wonder. Superb.

Until next time.