Froust Glass

A Poem

By Victor Femi-Lawal


You are Poe, Froust, Elliott,
Inebriated by couplets—
Brews of your own making,
Stirred, pungent, thick-huffed,
Bubbles racing up-down the glass,
Ice-cold, condensation forming
Thick white fog. And your gaze is fixed
On the wine flute; beaming at the
Brilliant, brilliant glow.
The butler prods, “Try this?”
“No, thanks” you stammer. “I have here
Mixed, synthesized, the best
Of brews— a full-bodied Sauvignon.”
And you stare down the
Bottom of the wine flute
Gazing, like Adonis, at your
Slowly ageing reflection.