Coke
There’s a bottle coca-cola
that stands icy and black
on my desk, .
My manager wants to know
how I can drink Coke so early in the day
and when I pour a glass
for a colleague,
he believes
that I am trying to kill
a bad hangover.
The cold liquid
burns delicious
all the way
down my throat.
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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