(for Jonathan Adams)
A former student drinks the wretched stuff.
He says he likes the cinnamon. O Lord,
have mercy — for I haven’t done enough
to teach the wisdom in my brain cells stored!
Against such errors, clearly, I have warred,
if at all, then with insufficient zeal.
I have allowed such fluids to be poured.
My soul has stood like paper, not like steel.
Miraculously now, I pray thee, deal
with the taste for this awful devil’s brew!
Let the wound in my student’s spirit heal!
Let him respond to good taste’s subtle cue!
To urine samples let him not agree!
Let him hold out for Famous Grouse — like me!