That old jar of pickled jalapeno slices
Sat in the fridge for who knows how long
I emptied its contents and I scrubbed it clean
And I found its new purpose
I place my red teapot on the stove
And I raise a flame beneath
til the steam comes screaming out
I bathe the leaves inside the jar
And I give it time
After hours of steeping, the water's assumed
Its most powerful form
And it's darker now than the soil from which
These leaves were born
Now it sits in the fridge overnight
until the next morning
It won't last long
There's nothing like an ice cold glass of tea
If you ask me
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