In September, we can be friends.

Absurd, it’s not allowed ’til then.

Doctors and patients, you see,

shouldn’t linger together over tea

until six months have expired.


Does this, to you also, feel odd?

Surely it would chafe even God?

It reeks unnatural, this flameless rule—

a mechanism of power, but a tool,

sapping-to-smoke this kettle’s fire.


In September, we can be friends.

The cold may be settling in by then.

What to do?  What to do?

One can’t just break a rule.

One can’t have tea, regaling one’s ire.


by S.A. Bort / 17 June 2013

photo by S.A. Bort