|from Magpie Tales|
fat-bellied as my grandma,
red velvet snooding the belly,
My scepter behind my back.
I'd stand over the latest atrocities,
the latest punditese (those teases!)
the faces of political hacks
and their victims. And underneath
always the crossword. The longbows
of language aimed just so,
my minions, my jongleurs,
my last line of last-ditch defenses.
They say coffee's good for cognition.
A ten letter word with a B,
Z, and T? And the clue? A lost
denizen of the Andes! So drink up,
old girl, I say. Slurp it down. Your mug's
waiting for you. Cuppa Joe,
my main man, my little monarch
of wide awake, can't you give me
more than a condescending frown?