On the NaPoWriMo prompt of Love and Wine:
I was slurping my much-adored ration of wine
And, all in all, feeling that things were just fine,
When something soft suddenly buzzed in my mouth –
I only just stopped it from going down south!
I spat out with vigour and there in the glass
A fly I espied, doing breast-stoke with class.
In these sorts of cases some options arise.
For, after recovering from the surprise,
I know there are some folk who would not have spat,
But simply ingested whatever ‘twas that
Had entered their tipple, and then carried on
As if nothing strange down their gullet had gone.
And yet other ones, if they spewed the thing out,
Would glug it back down, with no shadow of doubt;
While others would fish it out, flick it away,
And carry on drinking, all happy and gay –
But of these fine fellows the ones nearly worst
Are those that suck all of the wine off it first.
But worst of all are, with no question at all –
The ones who have habits must surely appal –
Whose love of their vino is so very great,
That loss of a smidgeon they won’t tolerate,
So, wholly disgustingly, quick as a wink,
They squeeze the fly thoroughly into their drink.
The option of turfing the bathing-wine out
Is certainly one that is followed, no doubt;
My own love’s too great for it going to waste –
Such trespassing never affected the taste –
So after disposing of any such fly,
I’m a carry-on-drinking-it sort of a guy!
© Colonialist April 2014 (WordPress)