Teatime (A Poem)

A short poem

It burned her young tastebuds
she spat it out (HOT!)
and her reward for the hotness was awful (BITTER!)

She shouldn’t have let herself be tricked. The old man seemed so nice 
	(his hair was moulded funnily, and he had the most pleasant accent, and mom seemed to think he was good)

She was convinced (from him) that tea was the most nice and refreshing and sweet thing in the world. It was NOT!
	He sat across from the seething child, sipping on steaming, bitter bile. 
		A trickster demon. A betraying adult. The devil in crinkly old skin!
	Worst of all, he was mean for making her drink this.

	Soon after, he showed her the little cubes of sugar, and the drizzles of honey, and the tiny dollhouse carafe of cream. Then he wasn’t so mean, and the tea wasn’t so bitter-hot. 

It was a nice day.