French Distortion Times Three

Cool, sweet distortion is what I crave.
The sweet French variety,
fat olives in abundance,
always serve best.
Problems
of the
long,
hot
day
seem
to just melt away
after just one of these magic potions.


“Shaken, not stirred,” was Bond’s steady reply.
What an ingenious answer to
the action and intrigue.
Even the slope
of the
cool,
slim,
clear
glass
reminds me of a topless, 
passionate woman, ready to ease my pain.


Yes, you can keep all your bliss of the inferior.
I take my chilled relief of reality
with olives or onions.
I’m very easy
to please.
Just
chill
it,
add
olives
and it must by all means
be thoroughly of the French variety.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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