A poem by James Fleming

There's stuff floating
in my Margarita.
And it also tastes

like soap, and metal.

I come here often
and I don’t appreciate
this mixture at all.

My Margarita should have
the taste of limes,
and nothing like
aluminum.

Please get me another one, sir,
as you do not wish to lose
my business tonight.

(This is my Uncle Jim's poem;

  the words are based on words

   said at a restaurant by his wife,

    my Aunt Lisa.)

Jim Krull