The Tale of Count Schniffelwerfer and the Dark Red Wine

—Two Olives
I ordered a martini extra dry
Served by a metaphysician
the olive he told me was a
world that coughed a dreadful
cough
of despondency and platitudes

Then the gibbering tourists smelled
of cigarettes and black magic
their grotesque shadows
painted mountains of rum and spice

So I said, doc—
could you make it two olives