This poem is a form of what I like to call metapoetry--that is, poetry about poetry. I owe the metaphor to my friend, Elizabeth Christy, who described making murky lemonade with Demerara (an unrefined form of sugar). Somehow I saw a poem in her tea/lemonade paradox...
A poem is like lemonade
Made with unrefined sugar
That turns it brown
(Something like tea)
And leaves the prospective drinker
Uncertain
As to whether the liquid
In the pitcher standing
On the table
Is potable,
Or some near-Eastern kind of practical joke.
However, when the prospective drinker
Takes the cup
Of brownish cloudy liquid poured
From said table-topping pitcher; poured
Into glass-made modern type of gourd
And drinks deeply its disputable juice
He feels instant quenching of his thirst;
Light shines bright inside his mind
Now he knows
The pitcher possesses lemonade
The greatest liquid ever made
It quenches thirst without delay
And gives superlative enlightenment.
Made with unrefined sugar
That turns it brown
(Something like tea)
And leaves the prospective drinker
Uncertain
As to whether the liquid
In the pitcher standing
On the table
Is potable,
Or some near-Eastern kind of practical joke.
However, when the prospective drinker
Takes the cup
Of brownish cloudy liquid poured
From said table-topping pitcher; poured
Into glass-made modern type of gourd
And drinks deeply its disputable juice
He feels instant quenching of his thirst;
Light shines bright inside his mind
Now he knows
The pitcher possesses lemonade
The greatest liquid ever made
It quenches thirst without delay
And gives superlative enlightenment.
