Tea Shop Man
The tatters in your shirt have their own history,
Each a memory of time spent in consummate skill,
Tossing your wok to rainy day perfection,
Each golden triangle a promise of bliss.
Tea Shop Boy
Your entire world’s the tea shop,
Its bounds the much frequented bench,
The slow moving street your movie screen.
And yet in your gravely laughing eyes,
Is the knowledge of all of life.
Tea Shop Boy (2)
One hand on the table,
The other at your waist,
You contemplate the world’s
Your eyes are those of a plaintive doe,
Till the tea threatens to spill over,
Then they are of a general
Capable of quelling
A tempest in a tea pot.
Or a saucepan in this case.