[with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge]
Rime of the Ancient Barister
It is an ancient barister
Who doth accosted me.
I asked the grey and red-haired lass
“what may I do for thee?”
She grabbed me with her aged hand
And bade me hear her tale.
Then put a finger to her lips,
her skin both drawn and pale.
“Hold off! Unhand me, grey-haired loon!
Why shouldst I hear your screed?”
“To warn the others in your care,
lest they should not take heed.
A latte once, a mocha twice--
and this by ten of nine!
By ten a.m. I’d had them thrice
and then get back in line.
And when I’d finally come back home
and burst wired through the door
I’d drain the change jar from the shelf
and send Pedro for some more.
Still all the while I knew I’d erred.
How great indeed the loss.
The venti mocha latte frap
was now my albatross.
But thankful for my loyal friends,
who came rushing to my aid,
suggested a dramatic cleanse
and brought the lemonade!
And enemas and bedpans!
And visits to the loo!
And craps (no fraps!) and lots of naps!
And all that cleansing poo!
Still I had to pick up Pedro
from work at three, I think.
There was frappe, frappe everywhere!
And not a drop to drink!”
My red-haired friend relaxed her grip
upon my tortured neck.
Then from her flask she took a nip
and left me with the check.
Before she fled, she passed along
a final parting sneer.
To resonate a warning
For all with ears to hear.
“He drinketh best who knowest best
For our dear God made coffee beans
but saints should stick to tea.”