She says she loves her cup of tea
With just the right grade of highland teabags
And enough balance in the milk-water portions
Because it spreads her wings
The tea spikes the waters within

She says she wants it hot
Hot as the lava straight from the volcano
Right from the round modified aluminum kettle
She loves to see the whisp and soft fumes going up
For it brushes the cold out of her

She says it is her drug
The one she is not willing to leave
No rehab; No counselling; No saying goodbye
She will live with it
For a day without it is raw; half cooked

I’m not sure if it makes her normal or happy
It startles me that pleasure can fold itself in a teabag
And drown itself in a hot bath
Does the fade of the tea-leaves fill her cup?
Her cup of instant stir of happiness?

And because I’d like to join in
Buy me a plastic mug from downtown
Recruit me to the ones who sing to the fields of Limuru & Kericho
Make me as excited to help you brew & wait
Because I want to be part of this party