In a Russia Without Tea

by LaTisha Conto

Cold leaves trampled

Warring put off, put in


Fighting the good,


An olive, garish and unclean,

Few utter a word too long for children to chant

Scream Oh! Oh!

In the streets quietly, amidst a feathered smokescreen

A man with arms has the deepest reach

Deepest pockets to reach into

Throws up the cold leaves

There is no tea.

There is no tea.

It’s a world of laughter

A world of fear

Needing an update, a knock down; out

Of walls, hollowed

Of walls, hallowed

From a long forgotten chamber, a hissing

Glitter provides a smokescreen, a very pretty


In a Russia without Tea.

Birds run the stations.

And birds fly highest

And birds talk loudest,

On the streets.

Screech Oh! Oh!

But patiently waiting.

At the broken foot of  a great wall,

Is there not an up rise?

Quietly gathering the steam.


A simmering teapot simmering sits,

Simmering, soon

My dear Russians,

Soon there will be tea.