A month or two ago I read a book.
It wasn’t bad but I’ve read better
stories with more interesting characters in my life.
I sat as I usually did with a cup of tea
but I think my wife forgot the sugar in it
as usual. She always did this.

Halfway through I thought to myself, “This
is getting boring. I’ll put this particular book
back where it belongs, let it
gather dust. I’m sure there is a better
read somewhere on these shelves, littered with tea
stains, stains from my younger self, my younger life.”

And yes, it has been a long life
indeed. Now would you just look at this!
Surrounded by novels, lukewarm tea.
I mean, see my book
over there on my desk? Yes, that could be better
too, but when I had finished writing it

I was so chuffed. Sadly though, it
didn’t make me feel more jovial about life.
Didn’t get much praise at all. My wife said, “Better
go to bed, wake up ready to start again, a new book.
Whatever happens, don’t let this
get to you, like last time when you downed cup after cup of tea

every day.” Yeah, she got it right, down to a T.
Again and again, I always ended up doing it.
Then I’d sit by myself, plan to book
a holiday and think “It’s time my life
took a different path, writing garbage like this
is not going to make things any better.”

I needed to start afresh, anew. I’d thought I’d better
stop with my unhealthy habit of supping tea
and after months of misery put a stop to this
nonsense. The stuff in the past? Just forget about it,
move on, focus on the more exciting projects in life.
Get ready to stun the world with a brilliant new book.

I presume you have read this. What do you think of it?
I turned to poetry. Better than the mush I wrote before when tea
played a part in my life? Who knows? One day, you might read it in that book.