Tizer
Posted by
John Clinton in
Poetry on
Feb 3rd, 2012 |
no responses
Once upon a time, Mum let me buy a Tizer at the local Off Licence.
On the way back, the local Yobs wanted some but I refused.
Going in at the gate, the bottle Slipped from my fingers
and smashed.
In the red Tizer and glass-shard puddle, my child’ eyes,
Wide and round with dismay, read REVENGE.
After more pleading and another trip To the Off Licence,
At last I sat down to enjoy my Tizer.
It was like drinking tepid water! There was simply no tang to it.
My Tizer just wouldn’t taste!
It had been my fault, Or at least, that of my butter fingers.
A certain spontaneity had been lost.
John Clinton