The Spy Who Loves Me & the Hungarians
I was sitting in sub-zero temperatures in the Northern Arctic
As one does when you're a Swedish spy
Caught between conflicting ethical codes...
Stuck in my tent I stumbled upon a poem
Pondering the experience of Hot British Tea.
The poem was long and decorous with adjectives.
My lips were stuck and frosted together in parts
As I murmured along with teeth chattering
With the rhythm of an African cheetah.
Though the words buttered into my soul.
"Steep," "simmering," "piping," and "warming"
Warmed my innards and radiated outward,
The imagination muscling forth the reality.
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
Crikey. Long-ranged silencers. I've been found.
(Hungarians.)
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
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