My Teabag Pops Up

(with a wink for Wordsworth)

My teabag pops up

like a frog in hot water

so I stir with

measured breathing.

Sometimes a spoon

is all you need

to save a self

from seething.

Numbers

You can count on the staff there

to show you the way.

They’ve got headband,

and sweet skunk, and

northern lights

on display.

They sell buds by the bushel,

guaranteed to transform:

You can roll, lick, and light ’em,

and suck up a storm.

You can chew ’em or drop ’em —

whatever you choose.

Turn on some music and

turn off the news.

Here’s a sample I brought you:

much better than flowers:

This little number

will stone you

for hours.

ABOUT:

Frank William Finney’s poems have appeared in Capsule Stories, Compass Rose, Grand Little Things, Lucky Jefferson, and elsewhere. His collection The Folding of the Wings was published in 2022 by Finishing Line Press. A native of Massachusetts, he taught literature in Thailand for twenty-five years. Find him nodding on Twitter @FinneyFw.

EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: Numbers - Weezer