Dad & Frank Zappa

 

I have never enjoyed cold tea.
You know that slop-dreg inch,
lukewarm, tipped into the sink.
My dad drank gallons of it,
with swigged slurp – his sound.

By God, he could drink it hot!
Gulped down, necked red-raw,
followed by a Silk Cut drag,
until the throat cancer stuck,
and he coughed it all up.

Was it the bloody cigarettes?
He puffed over nine miles of fags,
And how many gallons of tea?
With a cooled inch left, I recall
the words from Frank Zappa:
‘Everything gives you cancer’